IV
As Stephen walked away from the home of his beloved, ruminating over the strange disclosures of the day and how satisfactory and gratifying they were to him, his state of mind was such that he was eager for the completion of the more serious business that was impending so that he might return to her who had flooded his soul with new and sudden delight. Never was he more buoyant or cheerful. He was cheerful, notwithstanding his remorse.
For he did chide himself over his absurd stupidity. He should have known her better than to have entertained, for even a passing moment, a thought of her inconstancy, and that he should have so misjudged her,—her whom he himself would have selected from among his host of acquaintances as the one best fitted for the office assumed,—disturbed him not a little. His own unworthiness filled him with shame. Why did he question her?
And yet he would have given his own life to make her happy, he who was quietly allowing her to vanish out of it. He tried to explain his fallacy. First of all, the trend of circumstances was decidedly against him. There was his arrest and subsequent trial, days when he had longed to be at her side to pursue the advantages already gained. Then there were the days of his absence from town, the long solid weeks spent in trailing Anderson, and in meeting those who had been approached by him in the matter of the recruiting. It was well nigh impossible, during this time, to seize a moment for pleasure, precious moments during which Anderson, as he thought, had been making favorable progress both with his suit and with his sinister work. If Marjorie had forgotten him quite, Stephen knew that he alone was responsible. Him she had seen but seldom; Anderson was ever at her side. No girl should be put to this test. It was too exacting.
Despite his appreciation of these facts, his soul had been seized with a very great anguish over the thought of his lost prize; and if he had failed to conceal his feelings in her presence, it was due to the fact that his sensitive nature was not equal to the strain imposed upon it. Who can imagine the great joy that now filled his heart to overflowing as a result of his conversation today, when he learned from her own lips that throughout it all she had been steadfast and true to him alone? His great regard for her was increased immeasurably. Her character had been put to the test, and she had emerged more beautiful, more radiant, more steadfast than before.
This new analysis led him to a very clear decision. First of all he would defeat the cunning Anderson at his own game; then he would rescue his countrymen from their unfortunate and precarious condition; and, finally, he would return to Marjorie to claim his reward. Altogether he had spent an advantageous and a delightful afternoon. He was ready to enter the meeting house with renewed energy.