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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

"
"But I suppose one may be fair to another!" she went on, doubtingly,
"--and it is only fair to confess that he is much more manageable
since you came. Only that is no good if it does not come from the
right source."
"Grapes do not come from thorns, my lady. We must not allow in evil
a power of good."
She did not reply.
"He minds everything I say to him now," she resumed. "What is it
makes him so good?--I wish I had had such a tutor!"
She stopped again: she had spoken out of the simplicity of her
thought, but the words when said looked to her as if they ought not
to have been said.
"Something is working in her!" thought Donal. "She is so different!
Her voice is different!"
"But that is not what I wanted to speak to you about, Mr. Grant,"
she re-commenced, "--though I did want you to know I was aware of
the improvement in Davie. I wished to say something about my uncle."
Here followed another pause.
"You may have remarked," she said at length, "that, though we live
together, and he is my guardian, and the head of the house, there is
not much communication between us."
"I have gathered as much: I ask no questions, but I cannot tell
Davie not to talk to me!"
"Of course not.--Lord Morven is a strange man. I do not understand
him, and I do not want to judge him, or make you judge him. But I
must speak of a fact, concerning yourself, which I have no right to
keep from you.


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