'Is it it love itself,' asks a writer, 'or the lover that a young girl thinks most of, when she becomes conscious of this dual existence in her heart? I am inclined to think it is the former. The novelty of her own sensations occupies her more than the person to whom she owes their birth and existence.' It may be thus with some, but it was not so with Alison Cheyne, for she thought of Bevil--Bevil Goring only--as the embodiment of her love and of all she could love.…
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