the last supper

the last supper
THE more I knew of the inmates of Moor House, the better I liked
them. In a few days I had so far recovered my health that I could
sit up all day, and walk out sometimes. I could join with Diana and
Mary in all their occupations; converse with them as much as they
wished, and aid them when and where they would allow me. There was a
reviving pleasure in this intercourse, of a kind now tasted by me
for the first time- the pleasure arising from perfect congeniality
of tastes, sentiments, and principles.
I liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed,
delighted me; what they approved, I reverenced. They loved their
the last supper
sequestered home. I, too, in the grey, small, antique structure,
with its low roof, its latticed casements, its mouldering walls, its
avenue of aged firs- all grown aslant under the stress of mountain
winds; its garden, dark with yew and holly- and where no flowers but
of the hardiest species would bloom- found a charm both potent and
permanent. They clung to the purple moors behind and around their
dwelling- to the hollow vale into which the pebbly bridle-path leading
from their gate descended, and which wound between fern-banks first,
and then amongst a few of the wildest little pasture-fields that the last supper