Clare waited
a few hours to bury him, and then went on his way.
The cursory remarks of the large-minded stranger, of whom he knew
absolutely nothing beyond a commonplace name, were sublimed by his
death, and influenced Clare more than all the reasoned ethics of the
philosophers. His own parochialism made him ashamed by its contrast.
His inconsistencies rushed upon him in a flood. He had persistently
elevated Hellenic Paganism at the expense of Christianity; yet in
that civilization an illegal surrender was not certain disesteem.
Surely then he might have regarded that abhorrence of the un-intact
state, which he had inherited with the creed of mysticism, as at
least open to correction when the result was due to treachery. A
remorse struck into him. The words of Izz Huett, never quite stilled
in his memory, came back to him. He had asked Izz if she loved him,
and she had replied in the affirmative. Did she love him more than
Tess did? No, she had replied; Tess would lay down her life for him,
and she herself could do no more.
He thought of Tess as she had appeared on the day of the wedding.
How her eyes had lingered upon him; how she had hung upon his words
as if they were a god's! And during the terrible evening over the
hearth, when her simple soul uncovered itself to his, how pitiful her
face had looked by the rays of the fire, in her inability to realize
that his love and protection could possibly be withdrawn.
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