It is but the natural result of his making the
loveliest of God's gifts into his God, and worshipping and serving the
creature more than the creator. Oh my child, it is a terrible thing to
be! Except he knows God the saviour, man stands face to face with a
torturing enigma, hopeless of solution!
"The woman sought and found the enemy, my false self, in the house of my
life. To that she gave herself, as if she gave herself to me. Oh, how she
made me love her!--if that be love which is a deification of self, the
foul worship of one's own paltry being!--and that when most it seems
swallowed up and lost! No, it is not love! Does love make ashamed? The
memories of it may be full of pain, but can the soul ever turn from love
with sick contempt? That which at length is loathed, can never have been
loved!
"Of my brother she would speak as of a poor creature not for a moment to
be compared with myself. How I could have believed her true when she
spoke thus, knowing that in the mirror I could not have told myself from
my brother, knowing also that our minds, tastes, and faculties bore as
strong a resemblance as our bodies, I cannot tell, but she fooled me to a
fool through the indwelling folly of my self-love. At other times,
wishing to tighten the bonds of my thraldom that she might the better
work her evil end, proving herself a powerful devil, she would rouse my
jealousy by some sign of strong admiration of Edmund.
Pages:
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220