She
had regarded her earthly and her heavenly lover as two persons, each of
whom had certain claims upon her heart, and each of whom she had hoped to
satisfy in different ways; instead of identifying the two, and serving
each not apart from, but in the other. And it now seemed to her that she
was making experience of a Divine jealousy that would suffer her to be
satisfied neither with God nor man. Her soul was exhausted by internal
conflict, by the swift alternations of attraction and repulsion between
the poles of her supernatural and natural life; so that when it turned
wearily from self to what lay outside, it was not even capable, as
before, of making that supreme effort of cessation of effort which was
necessary to its peace. It seemed to her that she was self-poised in
emptiness, and could neither touch heaven or earth--crucified so high
that she could not rest on earth, so low that she could not reach to
heaven.
She came in weary and dispirited as the candles were being lighted in her
sitting-room upstairs; but she saw the gleam of them from the garden with
no sense of a welcoming brightness. She passed from the garden into the
door of the hall which was still dark, as the fire had nearly burned
itself out. As she entered the door opposite opened, and once more she
saw the silhouette of a man's figure against the lighted passage beyond;
and again she stopped frightened, and whispered "Anthony."
There was a momentary pause as the door closed and all was dark again;
and then she heard Hubert's voice say her name; and felt herself wrapped
once more in his arms.
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