CHAPTER XLIII.
A LITTLE MORE ABOUT ROGER, AND ABOUT MR. BLACKSTONE.
After telling me the greater part of what I have just written, Roger handed
me this letter to read, as we sat together that same Sunday evening.
"It seems final, Roger?" I said with an interrogation, as I returned it to
him.
"Of course it is," he replied. "How could any honest man urge his suit
after that,--after she says that to grant it would be to destroy the whole
of her previous life, and ruin her self-respect? But I'm not so miserable
as you may think me, Wynnie," he went on; "for don't you see? though I
couldn't quite bring myself to go to-night, I don't feel cut off from her.
She's not likely, if I know her, to listen to anybody else so long as the
same reasons hold for which she wouldn't give me a chance of persuading
her. She can't help me loving her, and I'm sure she'll let me help her
when I've the luck to find a chance. You may be sure I shall keep a sharp
lookout. If I can be her servant, that will be something; yes, much. Though
she won't give herself to me--and quite right, too!--why should she?--God
bless her!--she can't prevent me from giving myself to her. So long as
I may love her, and see her as often as I don't doubt I may, and things
continue as they are, I sha'n't be down-hearted. I'll have another pipe,
I think." Here he half-started, and hurriedly pulled out his watch, "I
declare, there's time yet!" he cried, and sprung to his feet. "Let's go and
hear what she's got to say to-night."
"Don't you think you had better not? Won't you put her out?" I suggested.
"If I understand her at all," he said, "she will be more put out by my
absence; for she will fear I am wretched, caring only for herself, and not
for what she taught me. You may come or stay--_I_'m off. You've done me so
much good, Wynnie!" he added, looking back in the doorway. "Thank you a
thousand times. There's no comforter like a sister!"
"And a pipe," I said; at which he laughed, and was gone.
When Percivale and I reached Lime Court, having followed as quickly as we
could, there was Roger sitting in the midst, as intent on her words as if
she had been, an old prophet, and Marion speaking with all the composure
which naturally belonged to her.
When she shook hands with him after the service, a slight flush washed the
white of her face with a delicate warmth,--nothing more. I said to myself,
however, as we went home, and afterwards to my husband, that his case was
not a desperate one.
"But what's to become of Blackstone?" said Percivale.
I will tell my reader how afterwards he seemed to me to have fared; but I
have no information concerning his supposed connection with this part of my
story. I cannot even be sure that he ever was in love with Marion. Troubled
he certainly was, at this time; and Marion continued so for a while,--more
troubled, I think, than the necessity she felt upon her with regard
to Roger will quite account for. If, however, she had to make two men
miserable in one week, that might well cover the case.
Before the week was over, my husband received a note from Mr. Blackstone,
informing him that he was just about to start for a few weeks on the
Continent. When he returned I was satisfied from his appearance that a
notable change had passed upon him: a certain indescribable serenity
seemed to have taken possession of his whole being; every look and tone
indicated a mind that knew more than tongue could utter,--a heart that had
had glimpses into a region of content. I thought of the words, "He that
dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High," and my heart was at rest
about him. He had fared, I thought, as the child who has had a hurt, but
is taken up in his mother's arms and comforted. What hurt would not such
comforting outweigh to the child? And who but he that has had the worst
hurt man can receive, and the best comfort God can give, can tell what
either is?
I was present the first time he met Marion after his return. She was a
little embarrassed: he showed a tender dignity, a respect as if from above,
like what one might fancy the embodiment of the love of a wise angel for
such a woman. The thought of comparing the two had never before occurred to
me; but now for the moment I felt as if Mr. Blackstone were a step above
Marion. Plainly, I had no occasion to be troubled about either of them.
On the supposition that Marion had refused him, I argued with myself that
it could not have been on the ground that she was unable to look up to him.
And, notwithstanding what she had said to Roger, I was satisfied that any
one she felt she could help to be a nobler creature; must have a greatly
better chance of rousing all the woman in her; than one whom she must
regard as needing no aid from her. All her life had been spent in serving
and sheltering human beings whose condition she regarded with hopeful
compassion: could she now help adding Roger to her number of such? and if
she once looked upon him thus tenderly, was it not at least very possible,
that, in some softer mood, a feeling hitherto unknown to her might surprise
her consciousness with its presence,--floating to the surface of her sea
from its strange depths, and leaning towards him with the outstretched arms
of embrace?
But I dared not think what might become of Roger should his divine resolves
fail,--should the frequent society of Marion prove insufficient for the
solace and quiet of his heart. I had heard how men will seek to drown
sorrow in the ruin of the sorrowing power,--will slay themselves that they
may cause their hurt to cease, and I trembled for my husband's brother. But
the days went on, and I saw no sign of failure or change. He was steady at
his work, and came to see us as constantly as before; never missed a chance
of meeting Marion: and at every treat she gave her friends, whether at the
house of which I have already spoken, or at Lady Bernard's country-place in
the neighborhood of London, whether she took them on the river, or had some
one to lecture or read to them, Roger was always at hand for service and
help. Still, I was uneasy; for might there not come a collapse, especially
if some new event were to destroy the hope which he still cherished, and
which I feared was his main support? Would his religion then prove of
a quality and power sufficient to keep him from drifting away with the
receding tide of his hopes and imaginations? In this anxiety perhaps I
regarded too exclusively the faith of Roger, and thought too little about
the faith of God. However this may be, I could not rest, but thought and
thought, until at last I made up my mind to go and tell Lady Bernard all
about it.
