No money from his uncle; no power of advancement; but a bondage with a
woman whose disparity of years, though immaterial just now, would operate
in the future as a wet blanket upon his social ambitions; and that
content with life as it was which she had noticed more than once in him
latterly, a content imperilling his scientific spirit by abstracting his
zeal for progress.
It was impossible, in short, to blind herself to the inference that
marriage with her had not benefited him. Matters might improve in the
future; but to take upon herself the whole liability of Swithin's life,
as she would do by depriving him of the help his uncle had offered, was a
fearful responsibility. How could she, an unendowed woman, replace such
assistance? His recent visit to Greenwich, which had momentarily revived
that zest for his pursuit that was now less constant than heretofore,
should by rights be supplemented by other such expeditions. It would be
true benevolence not to deprive him of means to continue them, so as to
keep his ardour alive, regardless of the cost to herself.
It could be done. By the extraordinary favour of a unique accident she
had now an opportunity of redeeming Swithin's seriously compromised
future, and restoring him to a state no worse than his first. His
annuity could be enjoyed by him, his travels undertaken, his studies
pursued, his high vocation initiated, by one little sacrifice--that of
herself. She only had to refuse to legalize their marriage, to part from
him for ever, and all would be well with him thenceforward. The pain to
him would after all be but slight, whatever it might be to his wretched
Viviette.
The ineptness of retaining him at her side lay not only in the fact
itself of injury to him, but in the likelihood of his living to see it as
such, and reproaching her for selfishness in not letting him go in this
unprecedented opportunity for correcting a move proved to be false. He
wished to examine the southern heavens--perhaps his uncle's letter was
the father of the wish--and there was no telling what good might not
result to mankind at large from his exploits there. Why should she, to
save her narrow honour, waste the wide promise of his ability?
That in immolating herself by refusing him, and leaving him free to work
wonders for the good of his fellow-creatures, she would in all
probability add to the sum of human felicity, consoled her by its breadth
as an idea even while it tortured her by making herself the scapegoat or
single unit on whom the evil would fall. Ought a possibly large number,
Swithin included, to remain unbenefited because the one individual to
whom his release would be an injury chanced to be herself? Love between
man and woman, which in Homer, Moses, and other early exhibitors of life,
is mere desire, had for centuries past so far broadened as to include
sympathy and friendship; surely it should in this advanced stage of the
world include benevolence also. If so, it was her duty to set her young
man free.