“He is not to them what he is to me," I thought: "he is
not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; -I am sure he
is-I feel akin to him-| understand the language of
his countenance and movements: though rank and
wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain
and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates
me mentally to him. Did I say, a few days since, that I
had nothing to do with him but to receive my salary
at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any
other light than as a paymaster? Blasphemy against
nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have
gathers impulsively round him. I know I must conceal
my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must
remember that he cannot care much for me. For
when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I
have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I
mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in
common with him. I must, then "repeat continually
that we are for ever sundered:-and yet, while I
breathe and think, I must love him.”