“What else?”
“I didn't know but you might have told him of my—my change of heart.”
“No. I thought it better that he should hear of that from your own lips.”
“Why?”
“Several reasons. Chiefly, because then he can have no doubt about it. You can make him understand that it is assured and irrevocable. If I were to speak with him he might doubt my word, or suspect that I had been influencing you. He seems to be something of a fire-eater.”
“Well, I dare say you are right. But it will be very hard.”
“It will, undoubtedly. But there's no help for it. It's an unavoidable nuisance. Once over and done with it, you'll feel immensely relieved.”
“It is strange,” said Elias, “how completely my affection for her seems to have been destroyed. Here, a little while ago, it was, and for many months had been, the ruling passion, the single aim and purpose of my life. I thought of nothing else, felt nothing else, cared for nothing else, all day long, every day. And now, it seems to have been utterly wiped out and obliterated, without even leaving a trace behind it—just as you blow out a candle, and the flame vanishes. I can think of her without any emotion of any kind. If I had never known her, if she had never been more than a passing acquaintance, my indifference could not be greater. This is very strange, isn't it?”
“No, Elias, not strange at all. You must remember that it is the act of the Lord. As you said this morning, the Lord has struck your passion dead in your heart. He has purified your heart with fire, and restored to it the cleanliness it had before this woman crossed your path, and tempted you. The truth is, you never really loved her at all. She exerted a certain baleful fascination over you—a fascination which the breath of the Lord has dissipated, just as the breath of the morning dissipates the miasms that have gathered over night.”
“I suppose—I suppose it will be a heavy blow for her. She loves me. She will suffer terribly.”