Lucy is now nearly fourteen; very large of her age, with a dead white skin, pale blue eyes, and a little light hair. To hear her talk is most edifying. Her babies are all "babes"; she never begins anything but "commences" it; she never cries, she "weeps"; never gets up in the morning, but "rises." But what am I writing all this for? Why, to escape my own thoughts, which are anything but agreeable companions, and to put off answering the question which must be answered, "Have I really made a mistake in refusing Dr. Elliott? Could I not, in time, have come to love a man who has so honored me?"
JULY 5.-Here I am again, safely at home, and very pleasant it seems to be with dear mother again. I have told her about Dr. E. She says very little about it one way or the other.
JULY 10.-Mother sees that I am restless and out of sorts. "What is it, dear?" she asked, this morning. "Has Dr. Elliott anything to do with the unsettled state you are in?"
"Why, no, mother," I answered. "My going away has broken up all my habits; that's all. Still if I knew Dr. Elliott did not care much, and was beginning to forget it, I dare say I should feel better."
"If you were perfectly sure that you could never return his affection," she said, "you were quite right in telling him so at once; But if you had any misgivings on the subject, it would have been better to wait, and to ask God to direct you."
Yes, it would. But at the moment I had no misgivings. In my usual headlong style I settled one of the most weighty questions of my life, without reflection, without so much as one silent appeal to God, to tell me how to act. And now I have forever repelled, and thrown away a heart that truly loved me. He will go his way and I shall go mine. He never will know, what I am only just beginning to know myself, that I yearn after his love with unutterable yearning.
I am not going to sit down in sentimental despondency to weep over this irreparable past. No human being could forgive such folly as mine; but God can. In my sorrowfulness and loneliness I fly to Him, and find, what is better than earthly felicity, the sweetest peace. He allowed me to bring upon myself, in one hasty moment, a shadow out of which I shall not soon pass, but He pities and He forgives me, and I have had many precious moments when I could say sincerely and joyfully, "Whom have I in heaven but Thee, and there is none upon earth that I desire besides Thee."
With a character still so undisciplined as mine, I seriously doubt whether I could have made him who has honored me with his unmerited affection. Sometimes I think I am as impetuous and as quick-tempered as ever; I get angry with dear mother, and with James even, if they oppose me; how unfit, then, I am to become the mistress of a household and the wife of a good a man!
How came he to love me? I cannot, cannot imagine!
August 31.-The last day of the very happiest summer I ever spent. If I had only been willing to believe the testimony of others I might have been just as happy long ago. But I wanted to have all there was in God and all there was in the world, at once, and there was a constant, painful struggle between the two. I hope that struggle is now over. I deliberately choose and prefer God. I have found a sweet peace in trying to please Him such as I never conceived of. I would not change it for all the best things this world can give.