CHAPTER VI.

How now? 
Even so quickly may one catch the plague? 
TWELFTH NIGHT.

Miss Haye came down to breakfast the next morning; but after little more than a nominal presentation of herself there, she escaped from Rose’s looks and words of comment and innuendo and regained her own room.  And there she sat down in the window to muse, having carefully locked out Clam.  She had reason.  Clam would certainly have decided that her mistress ‘wanted fixing,’ if she could have watched the glowing intent eyes with which Elizabeth was going deep into some subject —­ it might be herself, or some other.  Herself it was.

“Well,” —­ she thought, very unconscious how clearly one of the houses on the opposite side of the street was defined on the retina of either eye, —­ “I have learned two things by my precious yesterday’s expedition, that I didn’t know before —­ or that if I did, it was in a sort of latent, unrecognized way; —­ two pretty important things! —­ That I wish I was a Christian, —­ yes, I do, —­ and that there is a person in the world who don’t care a pin for me, whom I would lay down my life for! —­ How people would laugh at me if they knew it —­ and just because themselves they are not capable of it, and cannot understand it. —­ Why shouldn’t I like what is worthy to be liked? —­ why shouldn’t I love it?  It is to my honour that I do! —­ Because he don’t like me, people would say; —­ and why should he like me? or what difference does it make?  It is not a fine face or a fair manner that has taken me —­ if it were, I should be only a fool like a great many others; —­ it is those things which will be as beautiful in heaven as they are here —­ the beauty of goodness —­ of truth —­ and fine character. —­ Why should I not love it when I see it?  I shall not see it often in my life-time.  And what has his liking of me to do with it?  How should he like me!  The very reasons for which I look at him would hinder his ever looking at me —­ and ought.  I am not good, —­ not good enough for him to look at me; there are good things in me, but all run wild, or other things running wild over them.  I am not worthy to be spoken of in the day that his name is mentioned.  I wish I was good! —­ I wish I was a Christian! —­ but I know one half of that wish is because he is a Christian. —­That’s the sort of power that human beings have over each other!  The beauty of religion, in him, has drawn me more, unspeakably, than all the sermons I ever heard in my life.  What a beautiful thing such a Christian is! —­ what living preaching! —­ and without a word said.  Without a word said, —­ it is in the eye, the brow, the lips, —­ the very carriage has the dignity of one who isn’t a piece of this world.  Why aren’t there more such! —­ and this is the only one that ever I knew! —­ of all I have seen that called themselves Christians. —­ Would any possible combination ever make me such a person? —­ Never! —­ never.  I shall be a rough piece of Christianity if ever I am one at all.  But I don’t even know what it is to be one.  Oh, why couldn’t he say three words more yesterday!  But he acted —­ and looked —­ as if I could do without them.  What did he mean! —­”