There had been no officious voice to whisper to Rosalie Sherwood the
story of the doubtful position which she occupied in the world. She
was an orphan, the adopted child of the lady whom she devoutly loved
with all a daughter's tenderness; this she knew, and it was all she
knew; and Mrs. Melville was resolved that she should never know
more.
The son of the widow had been educated for the ministry. He was now
twenty-two years old, and was soon to be admitted to the priesthood.
In this he was following out his own wish, and the most cherished
hope of his mother, and it seemed to all who knew him, as though the
Head of the Church had set his seal upon Duncan from his boyhood. He
was so mild and forbearing, so discreet and generous, so earnest and
so honest; meek, and holy of heart, was the thought of any one who
looked upon his placid, youthful face. Yet, he had, besides his
gentleness, that without which his character might have subsided
into a mere puerile weakness; a firmness of purpose; a reverence for
duty; a strict sense of right, equal to that which marked his mother
among women. Duncan Melville's abilities were of a high order;
perhaps not of the very highest, though, if his ambition were only
equal to his powers, they would surely seem so to the world.
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