She saw too clearly the absence of
any warm, self-devoting love in Hetty's nature to regard the coldness of
her behaviour towards Adam as any indication that he was not the man
she would like to have for a husband. And this blank in Hetty's nature,
instead of exciting Dinah's dislike, only touched her with a deeper
pity: the lovely face and form affected her as beauty always affects a
pure and tender mind, free from selfish jealousies. It was an excellent
divine gift, that gave a deeper pathos to the need, the sin, the sorrow
with which it was mingled, as the canker in a lily-white bud is more
grievous to behold than in a common pot-herb.
By the time Dinah had undressed and put on her night-gown, this feeling
about Hetty had gathered a painful intensity; her imagination had
created a thorny thicket of sin and sorrow, in which she saw the poor
thing struggling torn and bleeding, looking with tears for rescue and
finding none. It was in this way that Dinah's imagination and sympathy
acted and reacted habitually, each heightening the other. She felt a
deep longing to go now and pour into Hetty's ear all the words of tender
warning and appeal that rushed into her mind. But perhaps Hetty was
already asleep. Dinah put her ear to the partition and heard still some
slight noises, which convinced her that Hetty was not yet in bed.
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