“A sad mistake. But it is made every day,” said Mrs. Montgomery, “and will continue to be made. Alas for the blindness and folly that lead so many into paths that terminate in barren deserts, or wildernesses where the soul is lost! And so our young friend has been crossed in love.”
“The experience is deeper than usual,” said I. Then I related, with some particularity, the facts in the case, already known to the reader. Both the mother and daughter listened with deep attention. After I had finished my story, Mrs. Montgomery said,
“He possesses will and strength of character, that is plain; but I can't say that I just like the deliberate process of _un_loving, if I may use the word, which you have described. There is something too cold-blooded about it for me. Like the oak, bent under the pressure of a fierce storm, he comes up erect too soon.”
I smiled at her view of the case, and answered,
“You look upon it as a woman, I as a man. To me, there is a certain moral grandeur in the way he has disenthralled himself from fetters that could not remain, without a life-long disability.”
“Oh, no doubt it was the wisest course,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
“And may we not look among the wisest men, for the best and most reliable?” I queried.
“Among those who are truly wise,” she said, her voice giving emphasis to the word _truly_.
“All true wisdom,” she answered, “as it appertains to the affairs of this life, has its foundation in a just regard for others; for, in the degree that we are just to others, are we just to ourselves.”
“And is not the converse of your proposition true also? In the degree that we are just to ourselves, are we not just to others?”
“Undoubtedly. Each individual bears to common society, the same relation that a member, organ, or fibre, does to the human body, of which it makes a part. And as no member, organ, or fibre of the body, can injure itself without injuring the whole man; so no individual can do wrong to himself, without a consequent wrong to others. Each has duties to perform for the good of common society, and any self-inflicted or self-permitted disabilities that hinder the right performance of these duties, involve a moral wrong.”
“Then the case is very clear for my friend Wallingford,” said I. “He is a wise man in your sense of the word--wise, in resolutely putting away from his mind the image of one who, if she had been worthy of him, would have taken her place proudly by his side; but, proving herself unworthy, could never afterward be to him more than a friend or stringer. He could not hold her image in his heart, and fondly regard it, without sin; for was she not to be the bride of another? Nor without suffering loss of mental power, and life-purpose, and thus injuring others trough neglect of duty. It was acting wisely, then, for him to come up, manfully, to the work of drawing back his misplaced affections, and getting them again fully into his own possession. And he has done the work, if I read the signs aright. All honor to his manhood!”