The excitement of business
being over, his thoughts flowed in a calmer current; and the stillness
of the deserted room gave to his feelings a hue of sobriety. He was
not altogether satisfied with himself. How could he be? No man ever
was satisfied with himself, when seclusion and silence found him after
his first departure from the right way. Ah, how little is there
in worldly possessions, be it large or small, to compensate for a
troubled, self-accusing spirit! how little to throw in the balance
against the heavy weight of conscious villany!
How tenderly, how truly, how devotedly had Edward Claire loved the
young wife of his bosom, since the hour the pulses of their spirits
first beat in joyful unity! How eager had he ever been to turn his
face homeward when the shadows of evening began to fall! But now he
lingered--lingered, though all the business of the day was over. The
thought of his wife created no quick impulse to be away. He felt more
like shunning her presence. He even for a time indulged a motion of
anger toward her for what he mentally termed her morbid sensitiveness
in regard to others' right--her dreamy ideal of human perfection.
"We are in the world, and we must do as it does. We must take it as it
is, not as it should be."
So he mused with himself, in a self-approving argument.
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