There was a tone of haughty assumption in the way he spoke these words that astonished Sybella, who gazed at him without speaking.
“Are you happy here?” asked he, abruptly.
“Yes,—that is, I have been so up to this—”
“In short, until I had robbed you of an illusion,” said he, interrupting her. “Ah, how many a pang do these 'awakenings' cost us in life!” muttered he, half to himself. “Every one has his ambitions of one sort or other, and fancies his goal the true one; but, his faith once disturbed, how hard it is to address himself earnestly to another creed!”
“If it be duty,” broke she in, “and if we have the consciousness of an honest breast and a right intention—”
“That is to say, if we gain a verdict in the court where we ourselves sit as judge,” said he, with a suddenness that surprised her. “I, for instance, have my own sense of what is right and just; am I quite sure it is yours? I see certain anomalies in our social condition, great hardships, heavy wrongs; if I address myself to correct them, am I so certain that others will concur with me? The battle of life, like every other conflict, is one in which to sustain the true cause one must do many a cruel thing. It is only at last, when success has crowned all your efforts, that the world condescends to say you have done well.”
“You, of all men, can afford to await this judgment patiently.”
“Why do you say that of me?” asked he, eagerly.
“Because, so long as I can remember, I have seen your name associated with objects of charity and benevolence; and not these alone, but with every great enterprise that might stimulate the efforts and develop the resources of the country.”
“Some might say that personal objects alone influenced me,” said he, in a low voice.