"Think of your youth, Katharine. Your life is almost all before you; and you have no friend but me. Supposing I were to die, my dear, how would it be with you then? For though you are not so helpless and so ignorant of the world's ways as when you came to me that winter's night, and told me I must hide you, and that without a question, and I did it--you are as little fitted as any woman I know for the loneliness of a friendless life. Is this offence quite past forgiveness? is there no way of reconciliation?"
"None, none," she murmured. "O, do not talk to me of the past."
"Katharine," he said, with deeper solemnity still, "think, be very sure, before you answer. Remember that nothing but the extremest injury can justify the course you are pursuing. Your name is false, your position is false, your very dress"--he stretched out his hand and touched it--"is a lie!"
"My widowhood at least is real," she said in an abrupt and bitter tone.
"My poor child, I don't doubt that. I know it is; but the evils dealt by man's hand are often of God's sending. Are you resisting God, and not man only? I am talking to you in the dark about many things, but there are some broad truths applicable to all circumstances. One of them is, that no self-imposed duties can stand in the place of those which God has appointed. When I watch--and I watch it closely--your exemplary life of usefulness, your self-denial, your promptitude in doing good--and see that you are not at peace in it, I cannot but think that you are doing this--that you are trying to do your own will, and not God's will; and that you are reaping the inevitable consequences."
Her head was bowed now, and she was crying.
"I don't know why I have felt forced to say all this to you to-day, Katharine. Something has forced me to say it, certainly. Think of it, my dear; and if there be any possible way to reconciliation with your home and your former life, turn your steps towards it."
"Are you weary of the charge of me? are you tired of the thankless task?"
He smiled, very slowly and tenderly; then rose; and, arranging some papers on his desk, said:
"Do you think to turn away my meaning by such a silly subterfuge? I am going out now: think of what I have said, Katharine; and, remember, if I have hurt you, it is because of my ignorance. I don't reproach you that you have kept me in it; but you must not wonder if it sometimes tells against yourself. Be sure of this, Katharine, there is no life so acceptable as that in which we carry our own burdens, without selecting them; and no spirit so safe as that which takes trials as they are sent, not sought for--kissing the rod."