Chaste as Ice, Pure as Snow: A Novel

by C. Despard

Oh, trust me, never fell
By love a spirit or earthly or of heaven:
Rather by love they are regenerate.
Love is the happy privilege of mind—
Love is the reason of all living things.

Margaret's work was not over. In that transcendent moment when death was staring her in the face she had made a certain resolution, and the security that followed the danger did not make her shrink from carrying it out. Strange but true; the words in which she had striven with the desperate spirit of evil that had taken possession of Jane Rodgers actually represented her state of mind at the time. Margaret had thrown herself out of herself. With the renovating power of the intensest pity she had looked into the troubled spirit which was revealing itself in all its unutterable depths of misery, and she had resolved to save it even from itself. Hence it was that instead of the abject cries self-pity would have drawn from the proudest heart at this supreme crisis, her words had been calm, self-contained, spoken with an authority which to the half-crazed brain of the desperate woman was so strange as to seem mysterious and supernatural.

This it was that had saved Margaret at least from severe bodily harm. In sheer astonishment the woman's hand had been stayed, and before the wicked impulse could return help was at the door. The help had come so strangely that Jane's superstitious fears were confirmed. She began to think her mistress possessed some secret power. The idea cowed her. She became abject in her dread. She looked upon the woman she had injured as one surrounded by invisible protectors, ready at a moment's notice to come to her assistance.

Even on that first evening Margaret had read a part at least of this in her landlady's face. The sullen frown did not leave Jane's brow, but the defiance had gone. It was a change for the better, yet Margaret was not satisfied; she wanted more than this. She had felt on that night like one in actual contact with the wild powers of darkness, struggling at the very mouth of the bottomless pit for a lost soul; and the impression continued. With the perseverance of a dominant idea that haunts the mind it followed her through her sleep. She seemed to hear the despairing cries of a dying soul; she seemed to see the mocking smiles of fiends who were waiting, like the vultures of the sandy wastes, till the last convulsive throes should be over to claim the lost thing for their own; she seemed to feel the last speechless agony, the outer darkness of despair.

Once she awoke, for the oppression was choking her, and when the waking reality of the dream came back in all its fulness she rose and knelt by her bed. "Thou hast saved me, my God," she prayed; "give me the power of saving, of helping to salvation, this wandering spirit." After that she was calmer; she was able to lie and watch, as she scarcely cared to sleep again, for the breaking of the morning, and to think and plan about the best method of carrying out her noble work.

"Love is the antidote of hatred," thought Margaret; "I will teach this woman to love, and perhaps love may be a ladder of life to her soul."

The morning broke slowly. She threw open her window and watched how it spread itself over sea and sky. Then there was a stir in the village. Windows and doors were opened, carts began to move heavily in the streets, and the steps of passing laborers could be distinctly heard.

Margaret bowed her head upon her hand. "They come from homes," she murmured; "they will go back to them to-night. My home is not."

But a rosy light spread itself over the sea; the waves that were rolling steadily in to the shore caught on their rebound a glow as of sapphire. It was the sun, and the sun brought hope. Then came movement in the house; it showed that Jane was astir. Margaret's mind went back to its planning. After a few moments' thought she wrapped her dressing-gown round her and crept on tip-toe to the door of the room where Martha Foster slept. The old woman was sleeping the sleep of the righteous. Margaret closed the door of communication; and then she rang the bell. Before her landlady could harden her heart against her Margaret wished to make some impression. While the scene of the past night was still fresh in her mind she might be more ready to hear the words of love and forgiveness Margaret had prepared herself to utter.

Some minutes passed before Jane appeared. She was at a loss to imagine what the object of her mistress could be. Jane had awoke that morning like one who has been under the power of a fearful nightmare. She could scarcely believe at first that she was herself, and that she was actually free from crime. But when she did, she felt for the first time in her life an emotion of earnest thankfulness to the Power, visible or invisible, which had withheld her hand.