Part 32 (1/2)
”Poor papa!” said Rose; ”this will come hard on him.”
”I know it,” said John, bitterly. ”It is more for others that I feel than for myself,--for all that are involved must suffer with me.”
”But, after all, John dear,” said Rose, ”don't feel so about us at any rate. We shall do very well. People that fail honorably always come right side up at last; and, John, how good it is to think, whatever you lose, you cannot lose your best treasure,--your true n.o.ble heart, and your true friends. I feel this minute that we shall all know each other better, and be more precious to each other for this very trouble.”
John looked at her through his tears.
”Dear Rose,” he said, ”you are an angel; and from my soul I congratulate the man that has got _you_. He that has you would be rich, if he lost the whole world.”
”You are too good to me, all of you,” said Rose. ”But now, John, about that bad news--let me break it to papa and mamma; I think I can do it best. I know when they feel brightest in the day; and I don't want it to come on them suddenly: but I can put it in the very best way. How fortunate that I am just engaged to Harry! Harry is a perfect prince in generosity. You don't know what a good heart he has; and it happens so fortunately that we have him to lean on just now. Oh, I'm sure we shall find a way out of these troubles, never fear.” And Rose took the letter, and left John and Grace together.
”O Gracie, Gracie!” said John, throwing himself down on the old chintz sofa, and burying his face in his hands, ”what a woman there is! O Gracie! I wish I was dead! Life is played out with me. I haven't the least desire to live. I can't get a step farther.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”O Gracie! I wish I was dead!”]
”O John, John! don't talk so!” said Grace, stooping over him. ”Why, you will recover from this! You are young and strong. It will be settled; and you can work your way up again.”
”It is not the money, Grace; I could let that go. It is that I have nothing to live for,--n.o.body and nothing. My wife, Gracie! she is worse than nothing,--worse, oh! infinitely worse than nothing! She is a chain and a shackle. She is my obstacle. She tortures me and hinders me every way and everywhere. There will never be a home for me where she is; and, because she is there, no other woman can make a home for me. Oh, I wish she would go away, and stay away! I would not care if I never saw her face again.”
There was something shocking and terrible to Grace about this outpouring. It was dreadful to her to be the recipient of such a confidence, to hear these words spoken, and to more than suspect their truth. She was quite silent for a few moments, as he still lay with his face down, buried in the sofa-pillow.
Then she went to her writing-desk, took out a little ivory miniature of their mother, came and sat down by him, and laid her hand on his head.
”John,” she said, ”look at this.”
He raised his head, took it from her hand, and looked at it. Soon she saw the tears dropping over it.
”John,” she said, ”let me say to you now what I think our mother would have said. The great object of life is not happiness; and, when we have lost our own personal happiness, we have not lost all that life is worth living for. No, John, the very best of life often lies beyond that. When we have learned to let ourselves go, then we may find that there is a better, a n.o.bler, and a truer life for us.”
”I _have_ given up,” said John in a husky voice. ”I have lost _all_.”
”Yes,” replied Grace, steadily, ”I know perfectly well that there is very little hope of personal and individual happiness for you in your marriage for years to come. Instead of a companion, a friend, and a helper, you have a moral invalid to take care of. But, John, if Lillie had been stricken with blindness, or insanity, or paralysis, you would not have shrunk from your duty to her; and, because the blindness and paralysis are moral, you will not shrink from it, will you? You sacrifice all your property to pay an indors.e.m.e.nt for a debt that is not yours; and why do you do it? Because society rests on every man's faithfulness to his engagements. John, if you stand by a business engagement with this faithfulness, how much more should you stand by that great engagement which concerns all other families and the stability of all society. Lillie is your wife. You were free to choose; and you chose her. She is the mother of your child; and, John, what that daughter is to be depends very much on the steadiness with which you fulfil your duties to the mother. I know that Lillie is a most undeveloped and uncongenial person; I know how little you have in common: but your duties are the same as if she were the best and the most congenial of wives. It is every man's duty to make the best of his marriage.”
”But, Gracie,” said John, ”is there any thing to be made of her?”
”You will never make me believe, John, that there are any human beings absolutely without the capability of good. They may be very dark, and very slow to learn, and very far from it; but steady patience and love and well-doing will at last tell upon any one.”
”But, Gracie, if you could have heard how utterly without principle she is: urging me to put my property out of my hands dishonestly, to keep her in luxury!”
”Well, John, you must have patience with her. Consider that she has been unfortunate in her a.s.sociates. Consider that she has been a petted child all her life, and that you have helped to pet her.
Consider how much your s.e.x always do to weaken the moral sense of women, by liking and admiring them for being weak and foolish and inconsequent, so long as it is pretty and does not come in your way.
I do not mean you in particular, John; but I mean that the general course of society releases pretty women from any sense of obligation to be constant in duty, or brave in meeting emergencies. You yourself have encouraged Lillie to live very much like a little humming-bird.”
”Well, I thought,” said John, ”that she would in time develop into something better.”
”Well, there lies your mistake; you expected too much. The work of years is not to be undone in a moment; and you must take into account that this is Lillie's first adversity. You may as well make up your mind not to expect her to be reasonable. It seems to me that we can make up our minds to bear any thing that we know must come; and you may as well make up yours, that, for a long time, you will have to carry Lillie as a burden. But then, you must think that she is your daughter's mother, and that it is very important for the child that she should respect and honor her mother. You must treat her with respect and honor, even in her weaknesses. We all must. We all must help Lillie as we can to bear this trial, and sympathize with her in it, unreasonable as she may seem; because, after all, John, it is a real trial to her.”