Summary

Portrait of Bayard Taylor Bayard Taylor Joseph and His Friend: A Story of Pennsylvania

Philip cried, interrupting him,—"a great valley, bounded by a hundred miles of snowy peaks; lakes in its bed; enormous hillsides, dotted with groves of ilex and pine; orchards of orange and olive; a perfect climate, where it is bliss enough just to breathe, and freedom from the distorted laws of men, for none are near enough to enforce them! If there is no legal way of escape for you, here, at least, there is no force which can drag you back, once you are there: I will go with you, and perhaps—perhaps—"
Philip's face glowed, and the vague alarm in Joseph's heart took a definite form.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Bayard Taylor Bayard Taylor Joseph and His Friend: A Story of Pennsylvania

He returned her caresses with equal warmth, and the twilight deepened around them as they stood, still half-embracing.
"Can I make you happy, Joseph?"
"Julia, I am already happier than I ever thought it possible to be."
With a sudden impulse she drew away from him. "Joseph!" she whispered, "will you always bear in mind what a cold, selfish, worldly life mine has been? You do not know me; you cannot understand the school in which I have been taught. I tell you, now, that I have had to learn cunning and artifice and equivocation. I am dark beside a nature so pure and good as yours!
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Bayard Taylor Bayard Taylor Joseph and His Friend: A Story of Pennsylvania

Now, looking upon Lucy's pure, gently firm, and reliant face, Mrs. Hopeton, for the second or third time in her life, yielded to a sudden, powerful impulse, and said: "Lucy, I foresee that I shall need the love and the trust of a true woman: where shall I find it if not in you?"
"If mine will content you," said Lucy.
"O my dear!" Mrs. Hopeton cried; "none of us can stand alone. God has singular trials for us, sometimes, and the use and the conquest of a trouble may both become clear in the telling of it. The heart can wear itself out with its own bitterness.
Source: Gutenberg

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