There was no assumed virtuous forbearance in all this; but a sincere regard for the feelings and comfort of Dewey.  This was so apparent, that I did not question for a moment his generous consideration of a man who would not have hesitated, if the power were given, to crush him to the very earth.

Many thoughts passed in my mind, as I pondered the incidents and conversation of this evening.  In looking back upon life, we see the sure progress of causes to effects; and in the effects, the quality of the causes.  We no longer wonder at results—­the only wonder is, that they were not foreseen.  Wise maxims, some of the garnered grains of our fathers’ experiences, are scattered through the books we read, and daily fall from the lips of teachers and friends; maxims which, if observed, would lead us to honor and happiness.  But who gives them heed?  Who makes them the rule of his conduct?

We might wonder less at the blind infatuation with which so many press onward in a course that all the wisdom of the past, as well as all the reason of the present, condemns, if it were possible to rub out our actions, as a child rubs from his slate a wrong sum, and begin the work of life over again.  But this cannot be.  We weave hourly the web that is to bind us in the future.  Our to-days hold the fate of our to-morrows.  What we do is done for ever, and in some degree will affect us throughout infinite ages.

“Poor Delia Floyd!” My thought had turned to her as I lay awake, long after the small hours of the morning, busy with incidents and reflections which had completely banished sleep from my eyes.  In the strong pity of my heart, I spoke the words aloud.

“What of her?” said Constance, in a tone of surprise.  And so intruding thought had kept her awake also!

“Nothing more than usual,” I answered.  “But I cannot sleep for thinking of her unhappy state, and what she might have been, if obeying her own heart’s right impulses, and the reason God gave her, she had accepted a true man, instead of a specious villain for her husband.  The scene in Ivy Cottage to-night stands in most remarkable contrast with some things I witnessed at the Allen House before she went out thence a wretched woman for life.  She staked everything on a desperate venture, and has lost.  God pity her! for there is no help in any human arm.  To think of what she is, and what she might have been, is enough to veil her reason in midnight darkness.”

“Amen!  God pity her!” said Constance.  “For truly there is no help for her in mortal arm.”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The conduct of Mr. Wallingford, in regard to the estate which had fallen into his hands, rather puzzled Dewey.  He had anticipated an early notification to remove, and, true to his character, had determined to annoy the new owner by vexatious delays.  But after the passage of several weeks, in which came to him no intimation that he must give up the possession of his elegant home, he began to wonder what it could mean.