These things had Linda now to do, and the poor girl
had none to help her in the doing of them. A
few hurried words were spoken on that morning between
her and Norman, and for the second time she set to
work to put off her wedding. Katie, the meantime,
lay sick in bed, and Mrs. Woodward had gone to London
to learn the worst and to do the best in this dire
affliction that had come upon them.
ALARIC TUDOR TAKES A WALK
There is, undoubtedly, a propensity in human love
to attach itself to excellence; but it has also, as
undoubtedly, a propensity directly antagonistic to
this, and which teaches it to put forth its strongest
efforts in favour of inferiority. Watch any fair
flock of children in which there may be one blighted
bud, and you will see that that blighted one is the
mother’s darling. What filial affection
is ever so strong as that evinced by a child for a
parent in misfortune? Even among the rough, sympathies
of schoolboys, the cripple, the sickly one, or the
orphan without a home, will find the warmest friendship
and a stretch of kindness. Love, that must bow
and do reverence to superiority, can protect and foster
inferiority; and what is so sweet as to be able to
protect?
Gertrude’s love for her husband had never been
so strong as when she learnt that that love must now
stand in the place of all other sympathies, of all
other tenderness. Alaric told her of his crime,
and in his bitterness he owned that he was no longer
worthy of her love. She answered by opening her
arms to him with more warmth than ever, and bidding
him rest his weary head upon her breast. Had
they not taken each other for better or for worse?
had not their bargain been that they would be happy
together if such should be their lot, or sad together
if God should so will it?—and would she
be the first to cry off from such a bargain?
It seldom happens that a woman’s love is quenched
by a man’s crime. Women in this respect
are more enduring than men; they have softer sympathies,
and less acute, less selfish, appreciation of the
misery of being joined to that which has been shamed.
It was not many hours since Gertrude had boasted to
herself of the honour and honesty of her lord, and
tossed her head with defiant scorn when a breath of
suspicion had been muttered against his name.
Then she heard from his own lips the whole truth, learnt
that that odious woman had only muttered what she soon
would have a right to speak out openly, knew that
fame and honour, high position and pride of life,
were all gone; and then in that bitter hour she felt
that she had never loved him as she did then.
He had done wrong, he had sinned grievously; but no
sooner did she acknowledge so much than she acknowledged
also that a man may sin and yet not be all sinful;
that glory may be tarnished, and yet not utterly destroyed;
that pride may get a fall, and yet live to rise again.
He had sinned, and had repented; and now to her eyes
he was again as pure as snow. Others would now
doubt him, that must needs be the case; but she would
never doubt him; no, not a whit the more in that he
had once fallen. He should still be the cynosure
of her eyes, the pride of her heart, the centre of
her hopes. Marina said of her lord, when he came
to her shattered in limb, from the hands of the torturer—
