He had reached at length the
pass of those frenzied votaries of a supernatural creed who exact
from their disciples the sacrifice of every human piety. Returning
home, he murmured to himself again and again, 'She must not marry.
She must overcome this desire of a happiness such as ordinary women
may enjoy. For my sake, and for the sake of her suffering
fellow-creatures, Jane must win this victory over herself.'
He purposed speaking to her, but put it off from day to day. Sidney
paid his visits as usual, and tried desperately to behave as though
he had no trouble. Could he have divined why it was that Michael had
ended by accepting his vague pretences with apparent calm,
indignation, wrath, would have possessed him; he believed, however,
that the old man out of kindness subdued what he really felt.
Sidney's state was pitiable. He knew not whether he more shrank from
the thought of being infected with Joseph Snowdon's baseness or
despised himself for his attitude to Jane. Despicable entirely had
been his explanations to Michael, but how could he make them more
sincere? To tell the whole truth, to reveal Joseph's tactics would
be equivalent to taking a part in the dirty contest; Michael would
probably do him justice, but who could say how far Joseph's
machinations were becoming effectual? The slightest tinct of
uncertainty in the old man's thought, and he, Kirkwood, became a
plotter, like the others, meeting mine with countermine.
Pages:
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506