Then he fell to meditating how little his studies had done for him.
What was the use of them? They had not made him any stronger, and he
was no better able than other people to resist temptation. After
twenty years continuous labour he found himself capable of the
vulgarest, coarsest faults and failings from which the remotest skiey
influence in his begetting might have saved him.
Clara was not as Baruch. No such storm as that which had darkened
and disheartened him could pass over her, but she could love, perhaps
better than he, and she began to love him. It was very natural to a
woman such as Clara, for she had met a man who had said to her that
what she believed was really of some worth. Her father and mother
had been very dear to her; her sister was very dear to her, but she
had never received any such recognition as that which had now been
offered to her: her own self had never been returned to her with
such honour. She thought, too--why should she not think it?--of the
future, of the release from her dreary occupation, of a happy home
with independence, and she thought of the children that might be.
She lay down without any misgiving. She was sure he was in love with
her; she did not know much of him, certainly, in the usual meaning of
the word, but she knew enough. She would like to find out more of
his history; perhaps without exciting suspicion she might obtain it
from Mrs Caffyn.
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