That was all! It was
the wooer who should die. Yes, die, knowing the cause of his death.
Jem pictured him (and gloated on the picture), lying smitten, yet
conscious; and listening to the upbraiding accusation of his
murderer. How he had left his own rank, and dared to love a maiden
of low degree! and oh! stinging agony of all--how she, in return,
had loved him! Then the other nature spoke up, and bade him
remember the anguish he should so prepare for Mary! At first he
refused to listen to that better voice; or listened only to pervert.
He would glory in her wailing grief! he would take pleasure in her
desolation of heart!
No! he could not, said the still small voice. It would be worse,
far worse, to have caused such woe, than it was now to bear his
present heavy burden.
But it was too heavy, too grievous to be borne, and live. He would
slay himself and the lovers should love on, and the sun shine
bright, and he with his burning, woeful heart would be at rest.
"Rest that is reserved for the people of God."
Had he not promised, with such earnest purpose of soul as makes
words more solemn than oaths, to save Mary from becoming such as
Esther? Should he shrink from the duties of life, into the
cowardliness of death? Who would then guard Mary, with her love and
her innocence? Would it not be a goodly thing to serve her,
although she loved him not; to be her preserving angel, through the
perils of life; and she, unconscious all the while?
He braced up his soul, and said to himself, that with God's help he
would be that earthly keeper.
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