canvas painting

were near relations, I was moved to make a last attempt to regain
his friendship. I went out and approached him as he stood leaning over
the little gate; I spoke to the point at once.
'St. John, I am unhappy because you are still angry with me. Let us
be friends.'
'I hope we are friends,' was the unmoved reply; while he still
watched the rising of the moon, which he had been contemplating as I
approached.
'No, St. John, we are not friends as we were. You know that.'
'Are we not? That is wrong. For my part, I wish you no ill and
all good.'
'I believe you, St. John; for I am sure you are incapable of
wishing any one ill; but, as I am your kinswoman, I should desire
somewhat more of affection than that sort of general philanthropy
you extend to mere strangers.'
'Of course,' he said. 'Your wish is reasonable, and I am far from
regarding you as a stranger.'
This, spoken in a cool, tranquil tone, was mortifying and
baffling enough. Had I attended to the suggestions of pride and ire, I
should immediately have left him; but something worked within me
more strongly than those feelings could. I deeply venerated my