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第84部分（第1页）

rmerly　municated　a　certain　austere　charm　to　his　language　and　manner。　To　me；　he　was　in　reality　bee　no　longer　flesh；　but　marble；　his　eye　was　a　cold；　bright；　blue　gem；　his　tongue　a　speaking　instrument—　nothing　more。

All　this　was　torture　to　me—refined；　lingering　torture。　It　kept　up　a　slow　fire　of　indignation　and　a　trembling　trouble　of　grief；　which　harassed　and　crushed　me　altogether。　I　felt　how—if　I　were　his　wife；　this　good　man；　pure　as　the　deep　sunless　source；　could　soon　kill　me；　without　drawing　from　my　veins　a　single　drop　of　blood；　or　receiving　on　his　own　crystal　conscience　the　faintest　stain　of　crime。　Especially　I　felt　this　when　I　made　any　attempt　to　propitiate　him。　No　ruth　met　my　ruth。　He　experienced　no　suffering　from　estrangement—no　yearning　after　reconciliation；　and　though；　more　than　once；　my　fast　falling　tears　blistered　the　page　over　which　we　both　bent；　they　produced　no　more　effect　on　him　than　if　his　heart　had　been　really　a　matter　of　stone　or　metal。　To　his　sisters；　meantime；　he　was　somewhat　kinder　than　usual：　as　if　afraid　that　mere　coldness　would　not　sufficiently　convince　me　how　pletely　I　was　banished　and　banned；　he　added　the　force　of　contrast；　and　this　I　am　sure　he　did　not　by　force；　but　on　principle。

The　night　before　he　left　home；　happening　to　see　him　walking　in　the　garden　about　sunset；　and　remembering；　as　I　looked　at　him；　that　this　man；　alienated　as　he　now　was；　had　once　saved　my　life；　and　that　we　were　near　relations；　I　was　moved　to　make　a　last　attempt　to　regain　his　friendship。　I　went　out　and　approached　him　as　he　stood　leaning　over　the　little　gate；　I　spoke　to　the　point　at　once。

“St。　John；　I　am　unhappy　because　you　are　still　angry　with　me。　Let　us　be　friends。”

“I　hope　we　are　friends；”　was　the　unmoved　reply；　while　he　still　watched　the　rising　of　the　moon；　which　he　had　been　contemplating　as　I　approached。

“No；　St。　John；　we　are　not　friends　as　we　were。　You　know　that。”

“Are　we　not？　That　is　wrong。　For　my　part；　I　wish　you　no　ill　and　all　good。”

“I　believe　you；　St。　John；　for　I　am　sure　you　are　incapable　of　wishing　any　one　ill；　but；　as　I　am　your　kinswoman；　I　should　desire　somewhat　more　of　affection　than　that　sort　of　general　philanthropy　you　extend　to　mere　strangers。”

“Of　course；”　he　said。　“Your　wish　is　reasonable；　and　I　am　far　from　regarding　you　as　a　stranger。”

This；　spoken　in　a　cool；　tranquil　tone；　was　mortifying　and　baffling　enough。　Had　I　attended　to　the　suggestions　of　pride　and　ire；　I　should　immediately　have　left　him；　but　something　worked　within　me　more　strongly　than　those　feelings　could。　I　deeply　venerated　my　cousin’s　talent　and　principle。　His　friendship　was　of　value　to　me：　to　lose　it　tried　me　severely。　I　would　not　so　soon　relinquish　the　attempt　to　reconquer　it。

“Must　we　part　in　this　way；　St。　John？　And　when　you　go　to　India；　will　you　leave　me　so；　without　a　kinder　word　than　you　have　yet　spoken？”

He　nooon　and　faced　me。

“When　I　go　to　India；　Jane；　will　I　leave　you！　What！　do　you　not　go　to　India？”

“You　said　I　could　not　unless　I　married　you。”

“And　you　will　not　marry　me！　You　adhere　to　that　resolution？”

Reader；　do　you　know；　as　I　do；　what　terror　those　cold　people　can　put　into　the　ice　of　their　questions？　How　much　of　the　fall　of　the　avalanche　is　in　their　anger？　of　the　breaking　up　of　the　frozen　sea　in　their　displeasure？

“No。　St。　John；　I　will　not　marry　you。　I　adhere　to　my　resolution。”

The　avalanche　had　shaken　and　slid　a　little　forward；　but　it　did　not　yet　crash　down。

“Once　more；　why　this　refusal？”　he　asked。

“Formerly；”　I　answered；　“because　you　did　not　love　me；　now；　I　reply；　because　you　almost　hate　me。　If　I　were　to　marry　you；　you　would　kill　me。　You　are　killing　me　now。”

His　lips　and　cheeks　turned　white—quite　white。

“I　should　kill　you—I　am　killing　you？　Your　words　are　such　as　ought　not　to　be　used：　violent；　unfeminine；　and　untrue。　They　betray　an　unfortunate　state　of　mind：　they　merit　severe　reproof：　they　would　seem　inexcusable；　but　that　it　is　the　duty　of　man　to　forgive　his　fellow　even　until　seventy…and…seven　times。”

I　had　finished　the　business　now。　While　earnestly　wishing　to　erase　from　his　mind　the　trace　of　my　former　offence；　I　had　stamped　on　that　tenacious　surface　another　and　far　deeper　impression；　I　had　burnt　it　in。

“Now　you　will　indeed　hate　me；”　I　said。　“It　is　useless　to　attempt　to　conciliate　you：　I　see　I　have　made　an　eternal　enemy　of　you。”

A　fresh　wrong　did　these　words　inflict：　the　worse；　because　they　touched　on　the　truth。　That　bloodless　lip　quivered　to　a　temporary　spasm。　I　knew　the　steely　ire　I　had　whetted。　I　was　heart…wrung。

“You　utterly　misinterpret　my　words；”　I　said；　at　once　seizing　his　hand：　“I　have　no　intention　to　grieve　or　pain　you—indeed；　I　have　not。”

Most　bitterly　he　smiled—most　decidedly　he　withdrew　his　hand　from　mine。　“And　now　you　recall　your　promise；　and　will　not　go　to　India　at　all；　I　presume？”　said　he；　after　a　considerable　pause。

“Yes；　I　will；　as　your　assistant；”　I　answered。

A　very　long　silence　succeeded。　What　struggle　there　was　in　him　between　Nature　and　Grace　in　this　interval；　I　cannot　tell：　only　singular　gleams　scintillated　in　his　eyes；　and　strange　shadows　passed　over　his　face。　He　spoke　at　last。

“I　before　proved　to　you　the　absurdity　of　a　single　woman　of　your　age　proposing　to　acpany　abroad　a　single　man　of　mine。　I　proved　it　to　you　in　such　terms　as；　I　should　have　thought；　would　have　prevented　your　ever　again　alluding　to　the　plan。　That　you　have　done　so；　I　regret—for　your　sake。”

I　interrupted　him。　Anything　like　a　tangible　reproach　gave　me　courage　at　once。　“Keep　to　mon　sense；　St。　John：　you　are　verging　on　nonsense。　You　pretend　to　be　shocked　by　what　I　have　said。　You　are　not　really　shocked：　for；　with　your　superior　mind；　you　cannot　be　either　so　dull　or　so　conceited　as　to　misunderstand　my　meaning。　I　say　again；　I　will　be　your　curate；　if　you　like；　but　never　your　wife。”

Again　he　turned　lividly　pale；　but；　as　before；　controlled　his　passion　perfectly。　He　answered　emphatically　but　calmly—

“A　female　curate；　who　is　not　my　wife；　would　never　suit　me。　With　me；　then；　it　seems；　you　cannot　go：　but　if　you　are　sincere　in　your　offer；　I　will；　while　in　town；　speak　to　a　married　missionary；　whose　wife　needs　a　coadjutor。　Your　own　fortune　will　make　you　independent　of　the　Society’s　aid；　and　thus　you　may　still　be　spared　the　dishonour　of　breaking　your　promise　and　deserting　the　band　you　engaged　to　join。”

Now　I　never　had；　as　the　reader　knows；　either　given　any　formal　promise　or　entered　into　any　engagement；　and　this　language　was　all　much　too　hard　and　much　too　despotic　for　the　occasion。　I　replied—

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