She was prompt and
thorough in doing a good action, and when she met the young people at
luncheon her arrangements for going to the island were all made, and she
announced that the next day, in the cool of the evening, they would
drive to Hampton and cross by the last boat to Ryde. This sudden and
complete revolution in her behavior was not owing to any change in
principle, but to sheer pitifulness of temper. She had not realized
before what an immense disaster and overthrow young Musgrave was
suffering, but at the sight of his pathetic visage and weakened frame,
and of Elizabeth's exquisite tenderness, she knew that such great love
must be given to him for consolation and a shield against despair. It
was quite within the scope of her imagination to depict the temptations
of a powerful and aspiring mind reduced to bondage and inaction by the
development of inherited disease: to herself it would have been of all
fates the most terrible, and thus she fancied it for him. But in Harry
Musgrave's nature there was no bitterness or fierce revolt, no angry
sarcasm against an unjust world or stinging remorse for fault of his
own. Defeat was his destiny, and he bowed to it as the old Greek heroes
bowed to the decree of the gods, and laughed sometimes at the impotence
of misfortune to fetter the free flight of his thoughts. And Elizabeth
was his angel of peace.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
_CERTAIN OPINIONS_.
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