husband, to whom she was as a dear child whom it was luxury to indulge, and amusement to develop.
Entirely as he gave his mind either to the study or the improvement of her's, it yet struck Mary that, however great the goodness, however perfect the kindness of Glentworth, yet the love was principally on Isabella's side. She was too happy at this time to attempt analyzing his feelings or her own; she was so ignorant of all other men, within or without the pale of marriage, that she had no opportunity of comparing him with them, or his ordinary conduct with theirs; and her admiration, her reverence of him, was so intense, her obedience and submission so entire, it was hardly likely she would do so; but if ever she did, if her eyes were once opened, with her acute feelings, her entire devotedness, the tender sister feared that her high wrought happiness might find a downfall proportioned to its present altitude.
Mary had loved once as Isabella loved now; and she had attained that point of reliance, that confiding faith in the beloved, which Isabella enjoyed, and had a sense of sympathy from congeniality of tastes and equality of years, and of knowledge with the one chosen, more perfect than her sister could possibly have with a man so superior in attainments; and, as the loss of this love had been the great misfortune of her life, it was no wonder she estimated it to the extreme of its value, and sought most anxiously, on her sister's behalf, the continuance of that hopefulness
