THE MOONSTONE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE WOMAN IN WHITE," &c. &c.

SECOND PERIOD. THE DISCOVERY OF THE
TRUTH. (1848- 1849.)

CHAPTER VII.—(CONTINUED).

"I HAVE lost a beautiful girl, an excellent
social position, and a handsome income," Mr.
Godfrey began; "and I have submitted to it
without a struggle. What can be the motive
for such extraordinary conduct as that? My
precious friend, there is no motive."

"No motive?" I repeated.

"Let me appeal, dear Miss Clack, to your
experience of children," he went on. "A child
pursues a certain course of conduct. You are
greatly struck by it, and you attempt to get at
the motive. The dear little thing is incapable
of telling you its motive. You might as well
ask the grass why it grows, or the birds why
they sing. Well! In this matter, I am like the
dear little thing—like the grass—like the
birds. I don't know why I made a proposal of
marriage to Miss Verinder. I don't know why
I have shamefully neglected my dear Ladies. I
don't know why I have apostatised from the
Mothers'-Small-Clothes. You say to the child,
Why have you been naughty? And the little
angel puts its finger into its mouth, and doesn't
know. My case exactly, Miss Clack! I
couldn't confess it to anybody else. I feel
impelled to confess it to you!"

I began to recover myself. A mental problem
was involved here. I am deeply interested in
mental problems—and I am not, it is thought,
without some skill in solving them.

"Best of friends, exert your intellect, and
help me," he proceeded. "Tell me—why
does a time come when these matrimonial
proceedings of mine begin to look like something
done in a dream? Why does it suddenly occur
to me that my true happiness is in helping my
dear Ladies, in going my modest round of useful
work, in saying my few earnest words when
called on by my Chairman? What do I
want with a position? I have got a position.
What do I want with an income? I can pay
for my bread and cheese, and my nice little
lodging, and my two coats a year. What do I
want with Miss Verinder? She has told me
with her own lips (this, dear lady, is between
ourselves) that she loves another man, and that
her only idea in marrying me is to try and put
that other man out of her head. What a horrid
union is this! Oh, dear me, what a horrid union
is this! Such are my reflections, Miss Clack,
on my way to Brighton. I approach Rachel
with the feeling of a criminal who is going to
receive his sentence. When I find that she has
changed her mind too—when I hear her
propose to break the engagement—I experience
(there is no sort of doubt about it) a most
overpowering sense of relief. A month ago I
was pressing her rapturously to my bosom.
An hour ago, the happiness of knowing that
I shall never press her again, intoxicates me
like strong liquor. The thing seems impossible
—the thing can't be. And yet there are
the facts, as I had the honour of stating
them when we first sat down together in these
two chairs. I have lost a beautiful girl,
an excellent social position, and a handsome
income; and I have submitted to it without a
struggle. Can you account for it, dear friend?
It's quite beyond me."

His magnificent head sank on his breast, and
he gave up his own mental problem in despair.

I was deeply touched. The case (if I may
speak as a spiritual physician) was now quite
plain to me. It is no uncommon event, in the
experience of us all, to see the possessors
of exalted ability occasionally humbled to the
level of the most poorly-gifted people about
them. The object, no doubt, in the wise
economy of Providence, is to remind greatness
that it is mortal, and that the power which has
conferred it can also take it away. It was
now—to my mind—easy to discern one of
these salutary humiliations in the deplorable
proceedings on dear Mr. Godfrey's part, of
which I had been the unseen witness. And it
was equally easy to recognise the welcome
reappearance of his own finer nature in the
horror with which he recoiled from the idea of
a marriage with Rachel, and in the charming
eagerness which he showed to return to his
Ladies and his Poor.

I put this view before him in a few simple
and sisterly words. His joy was beautiful to
see. He compared himself, as I went on, to a
lost man emerging from the darkness into the
light. When I answered for a loving reception
of him at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes, the