"At first I felt I really couldn't leave you--especially now you are quite alone; and that I must refuse Mr. Blath--Arthur, in consequence. But on thinking the matter over and looking at it sensibly, I remembered that a man must leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife, which of course includes a woman and her brother. And, when all's said and done, you married, so why shouldn't I?" By this time I had recovered my speech, and also my better feelings. At the first shock the idea of Annabel's marriage was revolting to me: I do not attempt to deny it: and the thought of her leaving me seemed Fate's final blow. But as I pulled myself together I realised that the selfishness of sorrow was swallowing me up, and I determined to escape from it before it was too late. Much is said on behalf of the sweetening uses of adversity; but, for my part, when people talk about the discipline of suffering, I always want to substitute the word "temptation" for "discipline," as I know few greater temptations to selfishness than bodily sickness and mental anguish. I cannot believe that either sickness or sorrow in itself makes men better: but if men grow better in spite of sickness and sorrow, then they are conquerors indeed. When we are told that the Captain of our Salvation was made "perfect through suffering," I do not think it is a proof of the beauty of suffering, but of the Divinity of Christ. Even that crowning temptation was powerless to hurt Him. And if He could be perfect in spite of the things He suffered, so can we, provided that we abide in Him and He in us. But I was not abiding in Him just then. I had gone out into the far country, because the one restriction of the Father's House was too hard for me: that restriction which I had persistently set aside: "If ye forgive not men their trespasses neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." Still there was enough Grace left in me to enable me to struggle, however vainly, against the wave of selfishness which was overwhelming my tortured soul, and I struggled. "You are quite right, Annabel, in saying and thinking that you have as much right to marry as I had; and it would be abominable selfishness on my part to say a word to dissuade you from any course which tended to your happiness." Here Annabel's sense of justice interrupted me. "Still, Reggie, I did say no end of words to try to dissuade you: there's no shutting your eyes to that fact; and therefore you have a perfect right to say anything you like to dissuade me. But I think I can honestly say that when I tried to prevent you from marrying Fay, I was thinking of your happiness rather than of my own." "I'd take my oath on that," I said warmly.