Edmund Bertram's Diary by Amanda Grange

which he could not get the better of. My poor sister was forced to stay and bear it.’
    My suspicions were every moment being confirmed. She had only had bad examples before her and so it was not to be wondered at that she should feel as she did. But I hoped that when she had seen more she would change her mind; and I knew her to be so reasonable that I did not have a doubt of it.
    ‘It is a great defect of temper, and to see your sister suffering from it must be exceedingly painful to such feelings as yours,’ I acknowledged. ‘Fanny, it goes against us. We cannot attempt to defend Dr Grant.’
    ‘No, but we need not give up his profession for al that,’ said Fanny. ‘Besides, a sensible man like Dr Grant cannot go to church twice every Sunday, and preach such very good sermons, without being the better for it himself. It must make him think; and I have no doubt that he oftener endeavors to restrain himself than he would if he had been anything but a clergyman.’
    ‘We cannot prove to the contrary, to be sure; but I wish you a better fate, Miss Price, than to be the wife of a man whose amiableness depends upon his own sermons,’ said Miss Crawford satirical y. ‘For though he may preach himself into a good humor every Sunday, it wil be bad enough to have him quarrel ing about green geese from Monday morning til Saturday night.’
    ‘I think the man who could often quarrel with Fanny must be beyond the reach of any sermons,’
    I said affectionately.
    Fanny smiled, and turned her face to the window so that I should not see how much my words had pleased her. I thought how pretty she was looking, and I was glad that my father was returning, so that she would soon be able to take part in al the pleasures of life to which her growing maturity entitled her.
    ‘I fancy Miss Price has been more used to deserve praise than to hear it,’ said Miss Crawford, seeing how shyly she received the compliment.
    I was about to say that that would change when Fanny went more into society, but I was forestal ed by Maria cal ing for Miss Crawford from the pianoforte, and inviting her to join them in a glee.
    Miss Crawford agreed at once, tripping off to the instrument. I looked after her, thinking what a wonderful woman she was, from her obliging manners down to her light and graceful tread.
    ‘There goes good humor, I am sure,’ I said. ‘How wel she walks! and how readily she fal s in with the inclination of others! joining them the moment she is asked. What a pity that she should have been in such hands!’
    Fanny agreed, for if Miss Crawford had had better friends and relatives, it was clear to both of us that her opinions would have matched our own.
    We remained by the window and looked out into the darkening night. Al that was solemn and soothing and lovely appeared in the bril iancy of the unclouded sky, and the contrast of the deep shade of the woods.
    ‘Here’s harmony!’ said Fanny softly. ‘Here’s repose! Here’s what may leave al painting and al music behind, and what poetry only can attempt to describe! Here’s what may tranquil ize every care, and lift the heart to rapture! When I look out on such a night as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor sorrow in the world.’
    She spoke with great feeling, and I said it was a great pity that not everyone had been given a taste of nature, for they lost a great deal by it.
    ‘You taught me to think and feel on the subject,’ she said with a warm smile.
    ‘I had a very apt scholar,’ I replied. I turned my head to look up at the star-speckled sky. ‘There’s Arcturus looking very bright.’
    ‘Yes, and the Bear,’ mused Fanny. ‘I wish I could see Cassiopeia. ’
    ‘We must go out on the lawn for that. Should you be afraid?’
    ‘Not in the least. It is a great while since we have had any stargazing.’
    ‘I do not know how it has happened,’ I said.
    I was about to give her my arm and suggest we supply our recent lack, when the bustle