happy. Remember those fine words of Burns,— “What you say sounds fine but dull. I don’t care about such wearisome domesticity.” “What you call wearisome domesticity,” said the Rector in a voice of emotion, “is the happiest state in which a man can find himself. Home, wife, children, domestic love, domestic consolations—what more can the heart of man desire? Laurel crowns cure no aching head, but the gentle kiss of a loved wife in time of trouble is indeed balm in Gilead.” Maurice looked at the old man in amazement, for never had he seen him so moved. “You speak feelingly, Rector,” he said at length, with a certain hesitation. “I speak as I feel,” replied Carriston with a sigh. “I also have my story, old and unromantic-looking as I am. Come over to the Rectory to-morrow, my dear lad, and I will 19tell you something which will make you see how foolish it is to be miserable in God’s beautiful world.” 19 “I am afraid it will give you pain.” “No; it will not give me pain. What was my greatest sorrow is now my greatest consolation. You will come and see me to-morrow?” “If you wish it.” “I do wish it.” “Then I will come.” There was silence for a few moments, each of them being occupied with his own thoughts. The Rector was evidently thinking of that old romance which had stirred him to such an unwonted display of emotion; and Maurice saw for the first time in his selfish life that other men had sorrows as well as he, and that he was not the only person in the world who suffered from Selbstschmerz. Selbstschmerz “But come, Maurice,” said the Rector, after a pause, “I was talking about curing you by marriage.” “Love!” “Well, marriage in your case, I hope, will be love,” observed Carriston, a trifle reproachfully. “I would be sorry indeed to see you make any woman your wife unless it was for true love’s sake.” “Well, whom do you want me to love?”
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