Ellinor just thought
it possible it might be the same Mr. Livingstone, and would rather it
were not, because she did not feel as if she could bear the frequent
though not intimate intercourse she must needs have, if such were the
case, with one so closely associated with that great time of terror which
she was striving to bury out of sight by every effort in her power. Miss
Monro, on the contrary, was busy weaving a romance for her pupil; she
thought of the passionate interest displayed by the fair young clergyman
fifteen years ago, and believed that occasionally men could be constant,
and hoped that if Mr. Livingstone were the new canon, he might prove the
_rara avis_ which exists but once in a century. He came, and it was the
same. He looked a little stouter, a little older, but had still the gait
and aspect of a young man. His smooth fair face was scarcely lined at
all with any marks of care; the blue eyes looked so kindly and peaceful,
that Miss Monro could scarcely fancy they were the same which she had
seen fast filling with tears; the bland calm look of the whole man needed
the ennoblement of his evident devoutness to be raised into the type of
holy innocence which some of the Romanists call the "sacerdotal face."
His entire soul was in his work, and he looked as little likely to step
forth in the character of either a hero of romance or a faithful lover as
could be imagined.
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