You can have your Pride and Prejudice, give me The Highlander's Last Song.
You can have your Darcy and Bingley, I''ll take Alister or Ian any day!
She did not believe that God was unceasingly doing and would do his best for every man; therefore, she was unable to claim the assurance that he was doing his best for Ian. But her longing to hear what her son had proposed telling her was becoming possible between them through her learning more clearly what his views were. Therefore, the night after that spent by her sons on the hill, after Alister had retired, she said to him, "You never told me, Ian, the story you began about something that made you pray."
"Are you sure you will not take cold, Mother?" he said.
"I am warmly clad, my son; and my heart is longing to hear all about it."
"I am afraid you will not find my story so interesting as you expect, Mother."
"What concerns you is more interesting to me than anything else in the whole world, Ian."
"Not more than God, Mother?" said Ian.
The mother was silent. She was as honest as her sons. The question showed her, however dimly and in shadow, something of the truth concerning herself--even though she could not fully grasp it--namely, that she cared more about salvation than about God. If she could but keep her boy out of hell, she would be content to live on without growing close to the Lord. God was to her an awe, not yet a ceaseless growing delight!
There are centuries of paganism yet in many lovely Christian souls--paganism so deep, therefore so little recognized, that their earnest endeavor is to plant that paganism ineradicably in the hearts of those dearest to them.
She did not yet understand that salvation lies in being one with Christ, even as the branch is one with the vine--that any salvation short of knowing God is no salvation at all. The moment a man feels that he belongs to God utterly, the atonement is there and the Son of God is reaping his harvest.
The good mother was, however, not one of those conceited stiff-necked souls who have been the curse of the church in all ages; she was but one of those in whom reverence for its passing form dulls the perception of unchangeable truth. Fortunately she was not of the kind who shut up God's precious light in the horn lantern of human theory, whose shadows cast on the path to the kingdom seem to dim eyes like insurmountable obstructions. For the sake of what they count revealed, they refuse all further revelation, and what satisfies them is merest famine to the next generation of believers.
Instead of God's truth, they offer man's theory, and accuse of rebelling against God those who cannot live on the husks they call food. But ah, home-hungry soul! God is not the elder brother of the parable, but the father with the best robe and the ring--a God high above all your longing, even as the heavens are high above the earth.
~from The Highlander's Last Song, by George MacDonald