ever to say so."

"We all, perhaps, say some wretched things which dwell on other people's
minds, long after we have forgotten them ourselves. It is one of the
acts we shall waken up to as sins--perhaps every one of us--whenever we
become qualified to review our lives dispassionately;--as sins, no
doubt, for the pain does not die with the utterance; and to give pain
needlessly, and to give lasting pain, is surely a sin. We are none of
us guiltless; but I am glad you said this particular thing--dreadful as
it was to hear it. It has caused me a great deal of thought within the
year; and it now makes us both aware how much happier we are than we
were then."

"We!"

"Yes; all of us. I rather shrink from measuring states of fortune and
of mind, as they are at one time against those of another; but it is
impossible to recall that warning of yours, and be unaware how
differently we have cause to think and speak now. I felt at the time
that it was too late for us to complain of love and of marriage. The
die was then cast for us all. It is much better to feel now that those
complaints were the expression of passing pain, long since over."

"I rejoice to hear you say this for yourself, Margaret; though I own I
should scarcely have expected it. And yet no one is more aware than I
that it is a blessing to love--a blessing still, whatever may be the woe
that must come with the love. It is a blessing to live for another, to
feel far more deeply than the most selfish being on earth ever felt for
himself. I know that it is better to have felt this disinterested
attachment to another, even in the midst of storms of passion hidden in
the heart, and of pangs from disappointment, than to live on in the very
best peace of those who have never loved. Yet, knowing this, I have
been cowardly for you, Margaret, and at one time sank under my own
troubles. Any one who loved as I did should have been braver. I should
have been more willing, both for you and for myself, to meet the
suffering which belongs to the exercise of all the highest and best part
of our nature: but I was unworthy then of the benignant discipline
appointed to me: and at the moment, I doubt not I should have preferred,
if the choice had been offered to me, the safety and quiet of a
passionless existence to the glorious exercise which has been graciously
appointed me against my will. I do try now, Margaret, to be thankful
that you have had some of this exercis