There was something shocking and terrible to Grace about this outpouring.  It was dreadful to her to be the recipient of such a confidence, to hear these words spoken, and to more than suspect their truth.  She was quite silent for a few moments, as he still lay with his face down, buried in the sofa-pillow.

Then she went to her writing-desk, took out a little ivory miniature of their mother, came and sat down by him, and laid her hand on his head.

“John,” she said, “look at this.”

He raised his head, took it from her hand, and looked at it.  Soon she saw the tears dropping over it.

“John,” she said, “let me say to you now what I think our mother would have said.  The great object of life is not happiness; and, when we have lost our own personal happiness, we have not lost all that life is worth living for.  No, John, the very best of life often lies beyond that.  When we have learned to let ourselves go, then we may find that there is a better, a nobler, and a truer life for us.”

“I have given up,” said John in a husky voice.  “I have lost all.”

“Yes,” replied Grace, steadily, “I know perfectly well that there is very little hope of personal and individual happiness for you in your marriage for years to come.  Instead of a companion, a friend, and a helper, you have a moral invalid to take care of.  But, John, if Lillie had been stricken with blindness, or insanity, or paralysis, you would not have shrunk from your duty to her; and, because the blindness and paralysis are moral, you will not shrink from it, will you?  You sacrifice all your property to pay an indorsement for a debt that is not yours; and why do you do it?  Because society rests on every man’s faithfulness to his engagements.  John, if you stand by a business engagement with this faithfulness, how much more should you stand by that great engagement which concerns all other families and the stability of all society.  Lillie is your wife.  You were free to choose; and you chose her.  She is the mother of your child; and, John, what that daughter is to be depends very much on the steadiness with which you fulfil your duties to the mother.  I know that Lillie is a most undeveloped and uncongenial person; I know how little you have in common:  but your duties are the same as if she were the best and the most congenial of wives.  It is every man’s duty to make the best of his marriage.”

“But, Gracie,” said John, “is there any thing to be made of her?”

“You will never make me believe, John, that there are any human beings absolutely without the capability of good.  They may be very dark, and very slow to learn, and very far from it; but steady patience and love and well-doing will at last tell upon any one.”

“But, Gracie, if you could have heard how utterly without principle she is:  urging me to put my property out of my hands dishonestly, to keep her in luxury!”