A slow rage devoured his
heart. Here he was, a man who knew his own worth, his
faithfulness, his unchangeableness, cast over the wall of the
universe, into the waste places, among the broken shards of ruin!
If there was a God--and the rage in his heart declared his being
--why did he make him? To make him for such a misery was pure
injustice, was willful cruelty! Henceforward he would live above
what God or woman could do to him! He rose and went to the hay-
field, whence he did not return till after midnight.
He did not sleep, but he came to a resolution. In the morning he
told his mother that he wanted a change; now that the hay was
safe, he would have a run, he hardly knew where--possibly on the
Continent; she must not be uneasy if she did not hear from him
for a week or two; perhaps he would have a look at the pyramids.
The old lady was filled with dismay; but scarcely had she begun
to expostulate when she saw in his eyes that something was
seriously amiss, and held her peace--she had had to learn that
with both father and son. Godfrey went, and courted distraction.
Ten years before, he would have brooded: that he would not do
now: the thing was not worth it! His pride was strong as ever,
and both helped him to get over his suffering, and prevented him
from gaining the good of it. He intrenched himself in his pride.
No one should say he had not had his will! He was a strong man,
and was going to prove it to himself afresh!
Thus thought Godfrey; but he is in reality a weak man who must
have recourse to pride to carry him through.
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