The Providence news. (Providence [R.I.]) 1891-1906, 1897-01-09
WHERE, ,lGNORANCEISBLISS !? 8
NJ SE
g., BY MARGARET DBLAND. "a
~ n
Author OF John Word Preocbsr." $
>,ss copyright 1896 BY the ''''''' s'''F''' &
a4essEafHRN
Author Of John Ward, Preocbsr."
!. ! copyright. 1885, by tn. Bachelor synalersl
sfsaaA es 95efSsaaes
PART III.

Yet. In spite Of himself. his mind
erept back to the brink Of that black
abyss of memory; those were dread
full days. those days of repentance
twenty years ago. The remembrance of
his sin would surge over him at the
most unexpected moments--in the
midst of work or study; when he was
talking; when he was prayingJ when,
perhaps, he was helping some other
human creature stagger along ,under
burden of remorse. The deeperthe went
into the new life he had begun TO lead
the clearer the Heavenly vision grew
before his eyes-the blacker the sin
seemed. For years, the memory OF II
used to come over him with q sudden
sinking and sickening Of thetsoul. He
remembered how inescapable the tor
ment of his regret had been. There
would be periods of forgetfulness, when
ne was plunged ipto work, and life, be-
cause IL was service. seemed good and
sweet; then, at some word, or the look
of the sky, or the smell of flower-the
evil spirit of recollection would leap
upon him and tear him. Yet the periods
of forgetfulness had heightened and
.engthened. The pain and shame had
faded and faded. The thing that gave
him this sick feeling. as he sat here
I'm his study at midnight, was not the
fact that he had slnned; twas the MEM
ory of how he had suffered for his sin.
The sin itself. now, was too remote,
too separate from himself to be real
TO him; but the suffering!-he could
net bear to think of it.
How mad this isl" he said to him
ealf, With q curious terror lest the suf-
fering should come back: the horror
. man might have felt who saw the
rack upon which, long before. he had
been stretched. lie drove his thoughts
back to- the q6estion of his duty to
Amy; that was plain reasoning, and had
nothing to do with this nightmare.
He lighted another match, but held
st absently, until il scorched his fingers,
then Surg it down with an angry ex-
clamation. IL seemed as though the
pain burned through all this fog of the
past. and showed him the facts which
he must Judge. and his own follyof un-
certainty. For. after all. what was
this natter he was trying to decide"
Was IL net merely the question OF what
Vas. beat for Amy? Not what was most
comfortable for himself: il was that
abstraction called Honor, as applied &c
Amv's happiness.
Whit was for her happiness. or, as he
had but IL FIRST. what was his duty tc
her: To let her know his past, or &c
.pp serrct fr.,m hcr and allow her 70
r1rpose fnat size knew his life. as she
f3.d her own?
NGm,t that it wes his impulse 10 tell
ne; whut did that impulse really
mean. Primarily. that il would be n
great iftlcf TO him; the idea of hav-
ing any reserves was mc.t repugnant
TO him. For the moment the instinct
~as again strong 20 tell her. But.
Trpwning. he went on with his argu-
mrnt: A relief To him; but what 10
htr? A pain and shame; a memory
that might outlast another twenty
three years, perhaps. But she might
Gant to know it? Well, that was no rea-
son. II she wanted poison. should he
give II TO her? And this was poison.
Did he not know that? Good God!
But had she right 10 know it? Hero
be was perfectly clear; certainly not.
It in no wise bore upon his relation
10 her. Furthermore. the question of
prudence was not involved; there was
no chance that some day, somehow, it
might come to her ears. She could
never hear it, except from him. If this
were not the case, of course he would
tell her.
But was he deceivine her? Was he,
Ss she put it, taking her love on false