thee all over; go on.'—So the difference between the priest and Pierre was herein:—with the priest it was a matter, whether certain bodiless thoughts of his were true or not true; but with Pierre it was a question whether certain vital acts of his were right or wrong. In this little nut lie germ-like the possible solution of some puzzling problems; and also the discovery of additional, and still more profound problems ensuing upon the solution of the former. For so true is this last, that some men refuse to solve any present problem, for fear of making still more work for themselves in that way.
Now, Pierre thought of the magical, mournful letter of Isabel, he recalled the divine inspiration of that hour when the heroic words burst from his heart—'Comfort thee, and stand by thee, and fight for thee, will thy leapingly-acknowledging brother!' These remembrances unfurled themselves in proud exultations in his soul; and from before such glorious banners of Virtue, the club-footed Evil One limped away in dismay. But now the dread, fateful parting look of his mother came over him; anew he heard the heart-proscribing words—'Beneath my roof and at my table, he who was once Pierre Glendinning no more puts himself';—swooning in her snow-white bed, the lifeless Lucy lay before him, wrapped as in the reverberating echoings of her own agonising shriek: 'My heart! my heart!' Then how swift the recurrence to Isabel, and the nameless awfulness of his still imperfectly conscious, incipient, new-mingled emotion toward this mysterious being. 'Lo! I leave corpses wherever I go!' groaned Pierre to himself—'Can then my conduct be right? Lo! by my conduct I seem threatened by the possibility of a sin anomalous and accursed, so anomalous, it may well be the one for which Scripture says there is never forgiveness. Corpses behind me, and the last sin before, how then can my conduct be right?'
