Bildungsromans; Feminist fiction; Women -- Employment -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
“Oh, yes!” answered Christie, so eagerly that David laughed, in spite
of the bitter memories stirring at his heart.
“So like a woman, always ready to hear and forgive sinners,” he said,
then took a long breath, and added rapidly:
“I’ll put it in as few words as possible and much good may it do you.
Some years ago I was desperately miserable; never mind why: I dare say
I shall tell you all about it some day if I go on at this rate. Well,
being miserable, as I say, every thing looked black and bad to me: I
hated all men, distrusted all women, doubted the existence of God, and
was a forlorn wretch generally. Why I did not go to the devil I can’t
say: I did start once or twice; but the thought of that dear old woman
in there sitting all alone and waiting for me dragged me back, and kept
me here till the first recklessness was over. People talk about duty
being sweet; I have not found it so, but there it was: I should have
been a brute to shirk it; so I took it up, and held on desperately till
it grew bearable.”
“It has grovn sweet now, David, I am sure,” said Christie, very low.
“No, not yet,” he answered with the stern honesty that would not let
him deceive himself or others, cost what it might to be true. “There is
a certain solid satisfaction in it that I did not use to find. It is
not a mere dogged persistence now, as it once was, and that is a step
towards loving it perhaps.”
He spoke half to himself, and sat leaning his head on both hands
propped on his knees, looking down as if the weight of the old trouble
bent his shoulders again.
“What more, David?” said Christie.
“Only this. When I found I had got to live, and live manfully, I said
to myself, ‘I must have help or I cannot do it.’ To no living soul
could I tell my grief, not even to my mother, for she had her own to
bear: no human being could help me, yet I must have help or give up
shamefully. Then I did what others do when all else fails to sustain
them; I turned to God: not humbly, not devoutly or trustfully, but
doubtfully, bitterly, and rebelliously; for I said in my despairing
heart, ‘If there is a God, let Him help me, and I will believe.’ He did
help me, and I kept my word.”
“Oh, David, how?” whispered Christie after a moment’s silence, for the
last words were solemn in their earnestness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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