At another time the doctor would have ceased in despair; but it is so hard to believe absolutely that those allied to us by many tender ties, can never respect our most sacred convictions; besides, the doctor’s sense of human justice was outraged, and he had not yet given full vent to his righteous indignation.
“I will not try to show you that I have a faith which you can never comprehend. It would be useless,” he said, “but I can tell you, though you could never persuade me to cant and howl among your pious herd, that I respect Christ and his example as I respect the dignity of all sympathy for human misery; and I shall prove it by standing by this unhappy girl. I am none the less ready to do so because her suffering is caused by a knave whom I had the misfortune to beget.”
“Why, I never heard any one utter such language!” exclaimed Mrs. Forest; “but it is useless to reason with you, when you are in a passion. For my part, I think ‘charity begins at home.’”
“Yes, I know you do; and according to your creed, it not only begins but ends there also.”
“Would you sacrifice the prospects of your children to protect a shameless girl?”
“I’d sacrifice anything and everything on earth to show my faith in the triumph of justice. Besides, this girl is not shameless. She has a noble nature. She told Dan to his face that he would never marry Susie Dykes—this when she found he would marry her, but only as a duty. Yes, madam, you can now measure my faith, which you despise, and see what it is worth beside yours. Let what will come, I shall stand by this girl. Life, with the consciousness that I have acted like a cur, is not worth having. Now you had better go and pray for grace to do unto others as you would have others do unto you;” and the doctor burst into a bitter laugh, as the door closed behind her who had come with wifely tenderness to sleep by his side.
CHAPTER XII.
CLARA DECIDES BETWEEN RELIGION AND PRINCIPLE.
Mrs. Forest had often had rather severe conflicts with her husband on questions of morality and justice, upon which, in her mind, he held very lax notions. This, however, was the first time they had been diametrically opposed in a matter of actual practice, and she was considerably disturbed, though she carried away the gratification of having preserved that serenity of soul that naturally belongs to those who are in the right; moreover she was somewhat piqued in her womanly vanity, because the doctor had not desired her to stay sufficiently to yield the point. But there was one deep satisfaction for her that atoned for everything: Dan was in no danger of being compelled to marry Susie Dykes. During all the first part of her conversation with the doctor, she had mortally feared that he would insist on bringing this about.
As she descended the stairs, she found Clara bolting the front door. She had just let Dr. Delano out, after bidding him good-night as many times as lovers usually do, and was in a blissful state of mind. Her beautiful, limpid eyes shone brilliantly through her long lashes, her lips were crimson and dewy, and her whole being expressed the happiness of the young, poetic enthusiast.
“Come and sleep with me, daughter. I wish to talk with you,” she said, embracing Clara with more effusion than was her wont, and Clara saw that some grief disturbed her mother. What could it be? Surely not disapproval of her attachment to Dr. Delano, for had not her mother smiled upon the happy lovers not an hour ago? This settled, in Clara’s thought, there could be nothing serious in what her mother had to say, and this special night she wished to be alone. There seemed lately no time to think, to enjoy the delicious creations of a vivid imagination, stimulated by a passion as real and sweet as it was dreamy and ideal. The longing to be alone with her thoughts made her say, “Come into the parlor, mamma dear, and tell me there.”