"Very conclusive reasons, my poor child. But are you certain that this is no jealous freak on your part, but really a deliberate act of desertion on his?"
"I never was jealous of Gilbert in my life," and Dorothy drew herself up with no little dignity, "my faith in his love was too great for that."
"Which makes your present disappointment harder to bear."
"Yes, my lord," and Dorothy drew a long sigh, "but I feel it less than I did a month ago. The heart knows its own bitterness; a stranger cannot enter into its joys or sorrows. So the Scriptures say. I do not quote the passage correctly, but it is something to that effect. My mind has been more tranquil, since I knew for certain that I could never be Gilbert Rushmere's wife."
"He may see his folly, Dorothy, and return to his first love."
"My lord, that is impossible. Love is a stream that always flows onward; it never returns to fill the channel that it has deserted and left dry. You might as well try to collect the shower that the thirsty earth drank up yesterday. Love once dead, can never revive again or wear the same aspect that it did at first, for the spirit that kindled it is gone, and what you once adored is only a silent corpse."
"You are resigned to the loss of your lover?"
"My lord, it is all for the best. Gilbert was the idol to whom I gave the undivided worship of my whole heart. God in his mercy saw fit to dash it in pieces. Let us leave the fragments in the dust, and speak of them no more."
"So young and so wise," mused the Earl, regarding his companion with intense interest. "How have you learned to bear so great a sorrow with such heroic fortitude?"
"I employed my hands constantly in useful labour, which kept me from pondering continually over painful thoughts. There is no better remedy for acute sorrow. I have always found it so; it gives strength both to the body and mind. But it was not this alone, my lord, which reconciled me to my grief." She paused a moment. Lord Wilton waved his hands impatiently.