Bressant's arms were folded, and the perpendicular line up from between
the eyebrows was quite in harmony with the rest of his appearance. He
was weary, harassed, and divided against himself. Insincerity made him
uncomfortable; it compelled continual exertion, and of a paltry and
degrading kind; and it gave neither a sense of security, nor a prospect
of future advantage. Five days from now he was to be married; the duties
of a parish minister were to be undertaken, and he felt himself neither
mentally nor morally fitted or inclined for the office. Five days from
now the professor would expect from him that gift at which he had hinted
during their drive; and he had done nothing, either in act or purpose,
to fulfil his promise concerning it.
He was cut off from all sympathy. How could he confide to Sophie the
very wrong he meditated against herself--the very deception he was
practising upon her father? And what other person in the world was there
to whom he might venture to betake himself? Cornelia?--not yet! he dared
not yet yield himself to the influence he felt she was exercising over
him; the surrender implied too much; matters had not gone far enough.
But did there not lurk, in the bottom of his heart, a presentiment that
it was to her alone he would hereafter be able to look for countenance
and comfort? And would he avail himself of the refuge? When those whom
their friends--whether justly or not--have abandoned, chance to stumble
upon some oasis of unconditional affection, they are not squeamish about
its source or orthodoxy; if the sentiment be sincere and hearty, that
is enough. In the present case, moreover, Cornelia, as a last resort,
was by no means so uninviting an object as she might have been.
But since the question lay between his fortune and Falsehood on one
side, and a wife and Truth on the other, how was it possible for him to
pause in his decision? Undoubtedly, had the young man once fairly
admitted to himself that his choice lay between these two bare
alternatives, he would have been spared much of the misery arising from
casuistry and duplicity. But people are loath to acknowledge any course
to be, beyond all appeal, right or wrong; they amuse themselves with
fancying some modification--some new condition--some escape; any thing
to get away from the grim face of the inevitable. Bressant, for
instance, might surely succeed in consummating his marriage with Sophie,
no matter what else he left undone; and that being once irrevocably on
his side of the balance, all that was vital to his happiness was secure;
by a quick stroke he might capture the fortune likewise, and could then
afford to laugh at the world.
This scheme, however, otherwise practical enough, involved a fallacy in
its most important point. A marriage so contracted, with a woman of
Sophie's character, could by no possibility turn out a happy or even
endurable union. She would not be likely long to survive it; if she did,
it would be to suffer a life more painful than any death; for no one
depended more than Sophie upon integrity and nobility in those she
loved; and the break in her family relations would be another source of
agony to her, and of consequent remorse and misery to her husband. No:
to bind her life to his, unless he could also compel her respect and
admiration, would be a good deal worse than useless.