Nor was
it possible. Not only would her own idea of duty prevent her from
writing to her lover, although she had stipulated for the right to
do so in some possible emergency,--but, carried far beyond that in
her sense of what was right and wrong, she felt it now incumbent
on her to have no secret from her father at all. The secret, as
long as it had been a secret, had been a legacy from her mother,--
and had been kept, at her lover's instance, during that period of
mourning for her mother in which it would, she thought, have been
indecorous that there should be any question of love or of giving
in marriage. It had been a burden to her, though a necessary
burden. She had been very clear that the revelation should be made
to her father, when it was made, by her lover. That had been
done,--and now it was open to her to live without any secrecy,--as
was her nature. She meant to cling to her lover. She was quite
sure of that. Nothing could divide her from him but his death or
hers,--or falseness on his part. But as to marriage, that would not
be possible till her father had assented.
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