- end_line
- 14051
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.924Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 13984
- text
- him and her--and wed with the second lady; which he accordingly did;
while, through his whole subsequent life, delicacy and honor toward his
thus wedded wife, forbade that by explaining to his first love how it
was with him in this matter, he should tranquilize her heart; and,
therefore, in her complete ignorance, she believed that he was willfully
and heartlessly false to her; and so came to a lunatic's death on his
account.
This strange story of real life, Pierre knew to be also familiar to
Lucy; for they had several times conversed upon it; and the first love
of the demented youth had been a school-mate of Lucy's, and Lucy had
counted upon standing up with her as bridesmaid. Now, the passing idea
was self-suggested to Pierre, whether into Lucy's mind some such conceit
as this, concerning himself and Isabel, might not possibly have stolen.
But then again such a supposition proved wholly untenable in the end;
for it did by no means suffice for a satisfactory solution of the
absolute motive of the extraordinary proposed step of Lucy; nor indeed
by any ordinary law of propriety, did it at all seem to justify that
step. Therefore, he know not what to think; hardly what to dream.
Wonders, nay, downright miracles and no less were sung about Love; but
here was the absolute miracle itself--the out-acted miracle. For
infallibly certain he inwardly felt, that whatever her strange conceit;
whatever her enigmatical delusion; whatever her most secret and
inexplicable motive; still Lucy in her own virgin heart remained
transparently immaculate, without shadow of flaw or vein. Nevertheless,
what inconceivable conduct this was in her, which she in her letter so
passionately proposed! Altogether, it amazed him; it confounded him.
Now, that vague, fearful feeling stole into him, that, rail as all
atheists will, there is a mysterious, inscrutable divineness in the
world--a God--a Being positively present everywhere;--nay, He is now in
this room; the air did part when I here sat down. I displaced the Spirit
then--condensed it a little off from this spot. He looked
apprehensively around him; he felt overjoyed at the sight of the
humanness of Delly.
While he was thus plunged into this mysteriousness, a knock was heard at
the door.
Delly hesitatingly rose--"Shall I let any one in, sir?--I think it is
Mr. Millthorpe's knock."
"Go and see--go and see"--said Pierre, vacantly.
The moment the door was opened, Millthorpe--for it was he--catching a
glimpse of Pierre's seated form, brushed past Delly, and loudly entered
the room.
"Ha, ha! well, my boy, how comes on the Inferno? That is it you are
writing; one is apt to look black while writing Infernoes; you always
loved Dante. My lad! I have finished ten metaphysical treatises; argued
five cases before the court; attended all our society's meetings;
accompanied our great Professor, Monsieur Volvoon, the lecturer, through
his circuit in the philosophical saloons, sharing all the honors of his
illustrious triumph; and by the way, let me tell you, Volvoon secretly
gives me even more credit than is my due; for 'pon my soul, I did not
help write more than one half, at most, of his Lectures;
edited--anonymously, though--a learned, scientific work on 'The Precise
Cause of the Modifications in the Undulatory Motion in Waves,' a
posthumous work of a poor fellow--fine lad he was, too--a friend of
mine. Yes, here I have been doing all this, while you still are
hammering away at that one poor plaguy Inferno! Oh, there's a secret in
dispatching these things; patience! patience! you will yet learn the
secret. Time! time! I can't teach it to you, my boy, but Time can: I
wish I could, but I can't."
There was another knock at the door.
- title
- Chunk 2