From her childhood she had had the ordering of all her
opinions: whatever Sophy Carmichael said, lady Arctura never thought
of questioning. A lie is indeed a thing in its nature unbelievable,
but there is a false belief always ready to receive the false truth,
and there is no end to the mischief the two can work. The awful
punishment of untruth in the inward parts is that the man is given
over to believe a lie.
Lady Arctura was in herself a gentle creature who shrank from either
giving or receiving a rough touch; but she had an inherited pride,
by herself unrecognized as such, which made her capable of hurting
as well as being hurt. Next to the doctrines of the Scottish
church, she respected her own family: it had in truth no other claim
to respect than that its little good and much evil had been done
before the eyes of a large part of many generations--whence she was
born to think herself distinguished, and to imagine a claim for the
acknowledgment of distinction upon all except those of greatly
higher rank than her own. This inborn arrogance was in some degree
modified by respect for the writers of certain books--not one of
whom was of any regard in the eyes of the thinkers of the age. Of
any writers of power, beyond those of the Bible, either in this
country or another, she knew nothing. Yet she had a real instinct
for what was good in literature; and of the writers to whom I have
referred she not only liked the worthiest best, but liked best their
best things.
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