"Whatever the system may be—and it is too great a question to draw hasty conclusions about—the present manner of dealing with it is, to my mind, unwise and unjust, and I must repeat, the men who are acting against it do not attract me by exhibiting what I consider to be the necessary virtues of true patriotism. We hear much about confiscation, spoliation, and self-interest in this new era, but steadfast adherence to settled principles, and respect for law and order, have become bywords here."
"'The greatest happiness of the greatest number' is the object of all true patriotism; this I believe to be the object of these men, and therefore I espouse their cause."
"So far so good," replied Mr. Blake; "but something remains which you all, I think, lose sight of; add to it, 'for the greatest length of time,' and then you will surely find strong motives for the self-sacrifice which I find wanting in these too-hastily-formed theories. 'The greatest happiness of the greatest number' is a phrase easily made use of to express 'the greatest happiness of myself and those who think with me.' It is the sacrifice of the present to the future, if necessary, that calls forth true devotedness. Will your patience permit me to give you a striking illustration of this, which I was reminded of but yesterday in a letter from my niece, and which is still uppermost in my mind? It is of a young lady who has sacrificed her heart, her earthly happiness, and, as I greatly fear, even her life, to this very principle."
"I shall listen to you with pleasure, but do not expect me to attach much value to such sacrifices. When women take up particular opinions they cleave to them with far greater obstinacy even than men. Weakness, you will grant me, is generally obstinate!"
"There is not much of weakness, as you will see, in what I am going to tell you:—
"My young friend and a gentleman whom she met abroad fell in love with each other, and, unlike the usually uneven course of true love, all went smoothly until within a fortnight of the celebration of their marriage, when she learned that her lover had been married before, and that his divorced wife was still living. Poor girl! her religion declares that there can be no such thing as divorce, so she had to choose between her faith and the earthly happiness already within her grasp. Well, she was true to her religion, and made the necessary sacrifice of the present for the future life! Her lover left her, as I am told, in great indignation, and she came home to Ireland looking broken-hearted. She rarely visited anywhere; and my niece, an old schoolfellow of hers, was almost her only companion. In what, as I suppose, was a fit of selfish revenge, the man wrote a book, which, it seems, gave her greater pain than all, since she gathered from it that her very steadfastness had been made the cause of his bitter sarcasm against all that she held sacred.
"One day the newspaper announced the death of his wife, and my niece was filled with joy in the hope that her friend's troubles would now be at an end; but no, the gentleman, it appears, was not so constant as she had been: he was now free to marry, but he did not come back to her. It is quite painful to watch her calm outward demeanour, and yet see, what is so evident, that a worm is in her heart. Poor child! they say she is in a decline, and the doctors have prescribed for her that last resource, a winter in the south. I travelled as far as Paris with her and her mother, and left my niece with them. I could not bear to take away that pleasure from her. They wait there for some family event—a marriage—and then come on to Italy. Now this steadfastness in what she believes to be true is what I call a cardinal virtue, carried to the point of heroism! If she dies, which is not improbable, it will be very like martyrdom. What do you think of it? Judging from the effect to the cause, we can hardly help venerating a principle which produces such effects. When you can show such in favour of these modern theories, I may perhaps be inclined to think better of them; as it is, I see everywhere a display of selfishness, rather than this devotedness."
Every word that Mr. Blake uttered fell upon Mr. Earnscliffe as a bitter reproach and a sharp punishment. He had no need to ask that heroine's name,—he knew it almost from the beginning. A crowd of contending feelings rushed upon him as Mr. Blake proceeded; at last he murmured to himself, "And this it is which, in my selfish pride, I have spurned and mistrusted!"
When Mr. Blake ceased speaking, Mr. Earnscliffe, with a sudden start, exclaimed, "Yes, this is something to admire; and the cause which produces it in such a creature as Flora Adair must be good! But do not tell me that her health is in real danger, that would be too much!"