Not that she said so; she carefully avoided
all reference to her feelings; and Albinia could almost have deemed
the whole a dream, excepting for the occasional detection of a
mournful fixed gaze, which was instantaneously winked away as soon as
Sophy herself became aware of it.
Her trouble, though of a kind proverbially the most hardening and
exacerbating, had an entirely contrary tendency on her. The rigidity
and harsh judgment which had betokened her states of morbid
depression since she had outgrown the sulky form, had passed away,
and she had been right in predicting that she should not be cross,
for she had become sweet and gentle towards all. Her voice was
pitched more softly, and though she looked ill, and had lost the
bloom which had once given her a sort of beauty, her eyes had a meek
softness that made them finer than when they wore the stern, steady
glance that used to make poor Gilbert quail. Her strength came not
from pride, but from Grace; and to her, disappointment was more
softening than even the prosperous affection that Albinia had
imagined. It was love; not earthly but heavenly.
If her father had been less busy, her pale cheek might have alarmed
him; but he was very much taken up with builders and estimates, with
persuading some of the superfluous population to emigrate, and
arranging where they should go, and while she kept the family hours
and habits, he did not notice lesser indications of flagging spirits,
or if he did, he was wise, and thought the cause had better not be
put into words.
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