Had she been in London, Brian would have remained there, too; so when the landscape began to be green, and the buildings few, and the sky showed a clear expanse above, his spirits revived with his gratitude for the fact that his dear girl was in the country. The fresh pure air strengthened him already.
Beverbridge was a long journey from town, but he found time pass pleasantly, as he leaned back close to the open window, and let his thoughts rove over the subject of Catherine's perfections. There would be need to ponder over the question how to gain some new work, how secure a prize in an overcrowded amphitheatre, since his marriage would be delayed until he could earn not only a sufficient income to provide a home, but also a small sum 'laid by' as provision for 'rainy days.'
Brian was resolved not to persuade Catherine to make an improvident marriage; he had seen much misery resulting from such folly, and his love for her was deep enough to make his plans unselfish.
There was a smile on his lips as he sat thinking, alone in the railway carriage—the smile which thoughts of Catherine always created. Tired, disappointed, harassed though he was, his life was blessed by a great happiness, and but for the fear of being guilty of hypocrisy, he would have thanked God for it.
These were the doubts which prompted the fear: 'Was he not supposed to be resigned to any possible manifestation of God's will? Without this resignation would not gratitude be guilty of mockery, since the Creator possessed undoubtedly the right to take, as well as to give? How could he honestly thank God for the gift of Catherine, if he were not prepared also to acknowledge God's right to take Catherine from him?
It may be thought that Brian was too sincere with himself in this matter. The girl he loved was strong and healthy, and likely, humanly speaking, to live to a good old age. But he was essentially thorough, and now that he was groping after the light, he was anxious to invite it to shine into every corner of his heart. He had already perceived that religion must be all or nothing, a sham or a whole, so that he could not rest content with any reservations.
If he was to love God, then to the Creator must be given more love than to the creature. Human tenderness and sympathy do not enter into the devotion that a soul must cherish for its Maker. He was not so foolish as to expect to feel the same impulses of longing for a vision of God, for instance, as it was natural for him to feel for the presence of Catherine; but he was not able yet to give the love which is commanded, the perfect acknowledgment of God as Author of all good, the resignation of praying 'Thy will be done,' of owning 'Thy will must be best,' and the confidence of leaving the future entirely, gladly, in God's care.
Brian often worried about the future. His health suffered from the feverish manner in which he pursued Fortune—all for Catherine's sake. As a youth he had fretted for fame; now he spent his life in restlessly striving after money and a secured position.
His pale, lined face, the grey hairs threading the dark curls over his temples, and his sunken eager eyes, proclaimed his want of peace.
There was no one but a porter in the little Beverbridge station when Brian arrived. Just as he was calling the man to take charge of his bag, and to direct him to a respectable inn, he chanced to look up at the bridge which spanned the rail. A tall girl standing, holding a little boy in her arms—Catherine herself!