“Had he but died before I knew this, I would have mourned for him all my
life, even as Christian mourns, but now--but now!--such as he is”--and
her burst of sobbing checked the voice of her sorrow. A moment after she
started up and dashed the tears from her eyes, with some vehemence.
“Should I not rather thank God that I have been saved from uniting
myself with a godless man--with my poor brother’s seducer?” and she sank
on her knees by the bedside. Poor Mary’s grief was too great for silent
supplications, and Christian stood entranced, as that prayer, broken by
many a gush of weeping, rose through the stillness of the quiet room.
She had never, she thought, heard such eloquence before of supplicating
sorrow, had never seen the omnipotence of truth and faith till then;
gradually they seemed to subdue and overcome the wildness of that first
grief, gradually attuned that sweet young sobbing, struggling voice, to
sweetest resignation, and ere Christian echoed the solemn “Amen,” Mary
had given thanks for her deliverance, though still natural tears, not to
be repressed, broke in on her thanksgiving, and silent weeping followed
her ended prayer. But when she bent her head upon her hands again,
Christian’s kind arm was around her, Christian’s tears were mingled with
her own, Christian’s lips were pressed to her wet cheek in tender
sympathy, and the voice of Christian, like a comforter, whispered,
“I know all, Mary, I know all; may God strengthen you, my dear
sister--you have done nobly, and as you should have done; may God bless
you, dearest Mary.”
And Mary’s head, as in her old childish sorrows, nestles on Christian’s
bosom, and Mary’s heart is relieved of half its heavy and bitter load.
Poor Mary! the days of childhood have indeed come back again, and, as
the violence of the struggle wears away, she weeps herself to sleep, for
sorrow has worn out the strength of her delicate frame, already
exhausted by the varied and contending emotions of the day, and now the
tears slide slowly from beneath her closed eyelids even in her sleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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