“It is from yourself he would deliver you.”
“I would, but that I want to put off seeing my wife as long as I can.”
“I thought you wanted to see her!”
“I long for her sometimes more than tongue can tell.”
“And you don’t want to see her?”
“Not yet; not just yet. I should like to be a little better—to do something or other—I don’t know what—first. I doubt if she would touch me now—with that small, firm hand she would catch hold of me with when I hurt her. By Jove, if she had been a man, she would have made her mark in the world! She had a will and a way with her! If it hadn’t been that she loved me—me, do you hear, you dog!—though there’s nobody left to care a worm-eaten nut about me, it makes me proud as Lucifer merely to think of it! I don’t care if there’s never another to love me to all eternity! I have been loved as never man was loved! All for my own sake, mind you! In the way of money I was no great catch; and for the rank, she never got any good of that, nor would if she had lived till I was earl; she had a conscience—which I never had—and would never have consented to be called countess. ‘It will be no worse than passing for my wife now,’ I would say. ‘What’s either but an appearance? What’s any thing of all the damned humbug but appearance? One appearance is as good as another appearance!’ She would only smile—smile fit to make a mule sad! And then when her baby was dying, and she wanted me to take her for a minute, and I wouldn’t! She laid her down, and got what she wanted herself, and when she went to take the child again, the absurd little thing was—was—gone—dead, I mean gone dead, never to cry any more! There it lay motionless, like a lump of white clay. She looked at me—and never—in this world—smiled again!—nor cried either—all I could do to make her!”
The wretched man burst into tears, and the heart of Donal gave a leap for joy. Common as tears are, fall as they may for the foolishest things, they may yet be such as to cause joy in paradise. The man himself may not know why he weeps, and his tears yet indicate his turning on his road. The earl was as far from a good man as man well could be; there were millions of spiritual miles betwixt him and the image of God; he had wept it was hard to say at what—not at his own cruelty, not at his wife’s suffering, not in pity of the little soul that went away at last out of no human embrace; himself least of all could have told why he wept; yet was that weeping some sign of contact between his human soul and the great human soul of God; it was the beginning of a possible communion with the Father of all! Surely God saw this, and knew the heart he had made—saw the flax smoking yet! He who will not let us out until we have paid the uttermost farthing, rejoices over the offer of the first golden grain.
Donal dropped on his knees and prayed:—
“O Father of us all!” he said, “in whose hands are these unruly hearts of ours, we cannot manage ourselves; we ruin our own selves; but in thee is our help found!”
Prayer went from him; he rose from his knees.