England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Villages -- England -- Fiction
Winifred never quite knew what she said, but she walked away with her
heart suddenly hardened against Faith. Why should Faith escape?--why
should she not bear her lot like other people?--why should one be set
free more than another? And, O, what had Faith to endure! What grief
was hers, whose lover only did not think himself worthy, or who would,
perhaps, renounce his happiness for the sake of perishing souls?
Grief?--why, it was an exquisite bliss. Faith stood on one side,
triumphant and happy, while Winifred walked in the valley of
humiliation, with sharpest thorns piercing her feet. Anthony did not
love her, for he loved another. Death builds no wall of separation like
this, nay, death, will break down walls,--only love itself can bar love
with a hopeless fence. She fought against the bitter truth, poor soul,
calling herself by hard names, and laughing drearily at her own folly;
but the anguish was very acute, and she had a feeling as if, though for
a little while she might keep its sharpest suffering at aim's length, it
would overmaster her at last. Was it all true,--real? Was the sun
shining on her, or was it rather a cruel furnace that had suddenly
scorched the earth, and would burn and scorch day after day, day after
day, through long years, through an endless lifetime, grey with shadows
and weary with pain, and with no better hope than forgetfulness? Heaven
pity those whose sorrow brings them face to face with such a thought and
no further! Its very touch gave Winifred a shuddering fear of herself,
and a momentary but clear perception of something that should shine
through grief and overcome it, ah, even make the rugged road beautiful.
But it was difficult for her to disconnect her thoughts as yet while
they were vibrating and ringing with the blow. She walked mechanically
towards home, but she saw Bessie and Mr and Mrs Featherly in the
garden, and feeling it impossible at this moment to join them, she stood
still irresolutely, and then turned and went along the field, where a
little stream was running, and a path led up through a small wood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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