Then, again, there was the inexplicable
fact that the knowledge of the way in which he regarded her had given
her pleasure; that was a great consolation to him, although he did not
gather from it any hope for the future. Her whole manner indicated that
she was, as he supposed her to be, entirely out of his reach, not only
by the barrier of circumstance, but by her own deliberate preference;
and yet he was certain that she was glad that he loved her. What did
that mean? He had so seen her life that he knew she was incapable of
vanity or selfish satisfaction; when she was glad it was because it was
right to be glad. Caius could not unravel this, and yet, deep within
him, he knew that there was consistency in it. Had she not said that
love in itself was good? it must be good, then, both to the giver and
receiver. He felt a certain awe at finding his own poor love embraced
in such a doctrine; he felt for the first time how gross and selfish,
how unworthy, it was.
It was now the end of March; the snow was melting; the ice was breaking;
it might be three or four weeks before ships could sail in the gulf, but
it would not be longer. There was no sign of further outbreak of
diphtheria upon the island. Caius felt the time of his going home to be
near; he was not glad to think of leaving his prison of ice. Two
distinct efforts were made at this time to entertain him.
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