She was a bed-ridden invalid, but she thrilled, like
Achilles, at the first gleam and clangor of arms. The only thing that
Sophie feared, and from which she shrank, was Sin. All else attracted
her in proportion as it was powerful, stirring, or awe-inspiring.
Delicate, sensitive, and apparently meek and timid as was her nature,
her heart was firm as a Roman general's, and her soul as large and
sympathetic as an Apostle's. Did the occasion offer, this pale
minister's daughter was capable of great and immortal deeds.
"Which way do you like him best, Neelie?" demanded she at length,
removing the dilated gaze of her gray eyes from the round knot on the
top of the bed-post; "when he's cold and bright, or when he's wild and
fiery."
"Oh! I don't like him at all!" exclaimed Cornelia, shuddering again.
Lest she should be suspected of a wilful misstatement, it may be as
well to show how it might happen that she should deceive herself in the
matter. Such likes and dislikes as she had heretofore felt could one and
all have been paraphrased as a more or less agreeable state of mind,
induced by the sight or thought of such and such an individual. She had
never conceived the possibility that a vital affection could take its
origin in aversion and fear, and grow strong through turmoil, passion,
and suffering.
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