Thus adjured, however difficult the point to which she brought him, the
sculptor was not a man to swerve aside from the simple truth.
"Miriam," replied he, "you exaggerate the impression made upon my
mind; but it has been painful, and somewhat of the character which you
suppose."
"I knew it," said Miriam, mournfully, and with no resentment. "What
remains of my finer nature would have told me so, even if it had not
been perceptible in all your manner. Well, my dear friend, when you
go back to Rome, tell Hilda what her severity has done! She was all
womanhood to me; and when she cast me off, I had no longer any terms to
keep with the reserves and decorums of my sex. Hilda has set me free!
Pray tell her so, from Miriam, and thank her!"
"I shall tell Hilda nothing that will give her pain," answered Kenyon.
"But, Miriam, though I know not what passed between her and yourself, I
feel,--and let the noble frankness of your disposition forgive me if
I say so,--I feel that she was right. You have a thousand admirable
qualities. Whatever mass of evil may have fallen into your life,
--pardon me, but your own words suggest it,--you are still as capable
as ever of many high and heroic virtues. But the white shining purity
of Hilda's nature is a thing apart; and she is bound, by the undefiled
material of which God moulded her, to keep that severity which I, as
well as you, have recognized."
"O, you are right!" said Miriam; "I never questioned it; though, as
I told you, when she cast me off, it severed some few remaining bonds
between me and decorous womanhood. But were there anything to forgive, I
do forgive her. May you win her virgin heart; for methinks there can
be few men in this evil world who are not more unworthy of her than
yourself."