Such a
moth was poor Cradell. There was no warmth to be got by him from
that flame. There was no beauty in the light,--not even the false
brilliance of unhallowed love. Injury might come to him,--a
pernicious clipping of the wings, which might destroy all power of
future flight; injury, and not improbably destruction, if he should
persevere. But one may say that no single hour of happiness could
accrue to him from his intimacy with Mrs Lupex. He felt for her no
love. He was afraid of her, and, in many respects, disliked her.
But to him, in his moth-like weakness, ignorance, and blindness, it
seemed to be a great thing that he should be allowed to fly near the
candle. Oh! my friends, if you will but think of it, how many of you
have been moths, and are now going about ungracefully with wings more
or less burnt off, and with bodies sadly scorched!
But before Mr Cradell could make up his mind whether or no he would
take advantage of the present opportunity for another dip into
the flame of the candle,--in regard to which proceeding, however,
he could not but feel that the presence of Miss Spruce was
objectionable,--the door of the room was opened, and Amelia Roper
joined the party.
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