"Let us be so far birds of the air--free as they, neither toiling nor spinning out anxious thoughts for the future: but why, with all this, should we not use our human privilege of looking before and after, to enrich and sanctify the present? Should we enjoy the wheat-fields in June as we do if we knew nothing of seed-time, and had never heard of harvest? And how should you and I feel at this moment, sitting here, if we had no recollection of walks in shrubberies, and no prospect of a home, and a lifetime to spend in it, to make this moment sacred? Look at those red-breasts: shall we change lots with them?" "No, no: let us look forward; but how? We cannot persuade ourselves that we are better than we are, for the sake of making the future bright." "True: and therefore it must be God's future, and not our own, that we must look forward to." "That is for confessors and martyrs," said Hester. "They can look peacefully before and after, when there is a bright life and a world of hopes lying behind; and nothing around and before them but ignominy and poverty, or prison, or torture, or death. They can do this: but not such as I. God's future is enough for them--the triumph of truth and holiness; but--." "And I believe it would be enough for you in their situation, Hester. I believe you could be a martyr for opinion. Why cannot you and I brave the suffering of our own faults as we would meet sickness or bereavement from Heaven, and torture and death from men?" "Is this the prospect in view of which you marry me?" "It is the prospect in view of which all of us are ever living, since we are all faulty, and must all suffer. But marriage justifies a holier and happier anticipation. The faults of human beings are temporary features of their prospect: their virtues are the firm ground under their feet, and the bright arch over their heads. Is it not so?" "If so, how selfish, how ungrateful have I been in making myself and you so miserable! But I do so fear myself!" "Let us fear nothing, but give all our care to the day and the hour. I am confident that this is the true obedience, and the true wisdom. If the temper of the hour is right, nothing is wrong." "And I am sure, if the temper of the hour is wrong, nothing is right. If one could always remember this--." "If we could always remember this, we should perhaps find ourselves a little above the angels, instead of being, like the serene, the Fenelons of our race, a little below them. We shall not always remember it, love; but we must remind each other as faithfully as may be." "You must bring me here, when I forget," said Hester. "This spring will always murmur the truth to me--`If the temper of the hour is right nothing is wrong.' How wrong has my temper been within this hour!" "Let it pass, my Hester. We are all faithless at times, and without the excuse of meek and anxious love. Is it possible that the moon casts that shadow?"