He quite yielded to it for a
time; and though 'twas sharpened by his comparison of the Margaret he
had just left, with the pretty, soft-smiling Madge of other days, that
comparison eventually supplanted self-pity with pity for her, a
feeling no less laden with sorrow.
He dared not think of what her perverseness might yet lead her to. For
himself he saw nothing but hopeless sorrow, unless she could be
brought back to her better self. But, alas, he by whose influence that
end might be achieved--for he could not believe that her heart had
quite cast him out--was flying from her, and years might pass ere he
should see her again: meanwhile, how intolerable would life be to him!
His heart, with the instinct of self-protection, sought some interest
in which it might find relief.
He thought of the cause for which he was fighting. That must suffice;
it must take the place of wife and love. Cold, impersonal, inadequate
as it seemed now, he knew that in the end it would suffice to fill
great part of that inner heart which she had occupied. He turned to it
with the kindling affection which a man ever has for the resource that
is left him when he is scorned elsewhere. And he felt his ardour for
it fanned by his deepened hate for the opposing cause, a hate
intensified by the circumstance that his rival was of that cause. For
that rival's sake, he hated with a fresh implacability the whole royal
side and everything pertaining to it.
Pages:
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227