True, I might have condemned them. Had I been judge as well
as witness, my sentence might have been stern as that of destiny
itself. But, still, no trait of original nobility of character, no
struggle against temptation,--no iron necessity of will, on the one
hand, nor extenuating circumstance to be derived from passion and
despair, on the other,--no remorse that might coexist with error,
even if powerless to prevent it,--no proud repentance that should
claim retribution as a meed,--would go unappreciated. True, again, I
might give my full assent to the punishment which was sure to follow.
But it would be given mournfully, and with undiminished love. And,
after all was finished, I would come as if to gather up the white
ashes of those who had perished at the stake, and to tell the
world--the wrong being now atoned for--how much had perished there
which it had never yet known how to praise.
I sat in my rocking-chair, too far withdrawn from the window to
expose myself to another rebuke like that already inflicted. My eyes
still wandered towards the opposite house, but without effecting any
new discoveries. Late in the afternoon, the weathercock on the
church spire indicated a change of wind; the sun shone dimly out, as
if the golden wine of its beams were mingled half-and-half with water.
Nevertheless, they kindled up the whole range of edifices, threw a
glow over the windows, glistened on the wet roofs, and, slowly
withdrawing upward, perched upon the chimney-tops; thence they took a
higher flight, and lingered an instant on the tip of the spire,
making it the final point of more cheerful light in the whole sombre
scene.
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