en before. And he heard, too, how certain
well-esteemed preachers and prophets of the day talked loudly of
the sins of the people, and foretold destruction such as was the
destruction of Gomorrah;--but to him it seemed that the people of his
village were more honest, less given to drink, and certainly better
educated than their fathers. In all which thoughts he found matter
for hope and encouragement in his daily life. And he set himself to
work diligently, placing all this as a balance against his private
sorrows, so that he might teach himself to take that world, of
which he himself was the centre, as one whole,--and so to walk on
rejoicing.

The one great sorrow of his life, the thorn in the flesh which was
always festering, the wound which would not be cured, the grief for
which there was no remedy, was his love for Clarissa Underwood. He
had asked her thrice to be his wife,--with very little interval,
indeed, between the separate prayers,--and had been so answered that
he entertained no hope. Had there been any faintest expectation in
his mind that Clarissa would at last become his wife he would have
been deterred by a sense of duty from making to his brother that
generous offer of all the property he owned. But he had no such hope.
Clarissa had given thrice that answer, which of all answers is the
most grievous to the true-hearted lover. "She felt for him unbounded
esteem, and would always regard him as a friend." A short decided
negative, or a doubtful no, or even an indignant repulse, may
be changed,--may give way to second convictions, or to better
acquaintance, or to altered circumstances, or even simply to
perseverance. But an assurance of esteem and friendship means, and
only can mean, that the lady regards her lover as she might do some
old uncle or patriarchal family connection, whom, after a fashion,
she loves, but who can never be to her the one creature to be
worshipped above all others.

Such were Gregory Newton's ideas as to his own chance of success,
and, so believing, he had resolved that he would never press his
suit again. He endeavoured to conquer his love;--but that he found
to be impossible. He thought that it was so impossible that he had
determined to give up the endeavour. Though he would have advised
others that by God's mercy all sorrows in this world could be cured,
he told himself,--without arraigning God's mercy,--that for him this
sorrow could not be cured. He did not scruple, there