“Ambrose Catterall says that young men must always sow their wild oats,” I said, when she stopped thus.
“That is one of the Devil’s maxims,” exclaimed Flora, earnestly. “God calls it sowing to the flesh: and He says the harvest of it is corruption. Some flowers seed themselves: thistles do. Did you ever know roses grow from thistle seed? No: ‘whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he reap.’ Ah me, for Angus’s harvest!”
“Well, I don’t see what you can do,” said I.
“There is the sting,” she replied. “It would be silly to weep if I did. No, in such cases, I think there is only one thing a woman can do—and that is to cry mightily unto God to loose the bonds of the oppressor, and let the oppressed go free. I don’t know—I may be mistaken—but I hardly think it is of much use for women to talk to such a man. It is not talking that he needs. He knows his own folly, very often, at least as well as you can tell him, and would be glad enough to be loosed from his bonds, if only somebody would come and tear them asunder. He cannot: and you cannot. Only God can. Some evil spirits can be cast out by nothing but prayer. Cary—” Flora broke off suddenly, and looked up earnestly in my face. “Don’t mention this, will you, dear? I should not have said a word to you nor any one if you had not surprised me.”
I promised her I would not, unless somebody first spoke to me. She would not come to Sophy’s room.
“Tell the girls,” she said, “that I want to write home; for I shall do it presently, when I feel a little calmer.”
Something struck me as I was turning away. “Flora,” I said, “why do you not tell my Aunt Kezia all about it? I am sure she would help you, if any one could.”
“Yes, dear, I think she would,” said Flora, gently; “but you see no one could. And remember, Cary!” she called me back as I was leaving the chamber, and came to me, and took both my hands; and her great sorrowful eyes, which looked just like brown velvet, gazed into mine like the eyes of a dog which is afraid of a scolding: “remember, Cary, that Angus is not wicked. He is only weak. But how weak he is!”
She broke down with another sob.
“But men should be stronger than women,” said I, “not weaker.”