I cannot trace the steps by which the
two sinners drew nearer and nearer together, for the simple reason
that this is an autobiography, and not a novel. I do not know what
the development was, nor did anybody except the person concerned.
Neither do I know what was the mental history of Mrs. Butts during
this unhappy period. She seldom talked about it afterwards. I do,
however, happen to recollect hearing her once say that her greatest
trouble was the cessation, from some unknown cause, of Clem's
attempts--they were never many--to interest and amuse her. It is
easy to understand how this should be. If a man is guilty of any
defection from himself, of anything of which he is ashamed,
everything which is better becomes a farce to him. After he has been
betrayed by some passion, how can he pretend to the perfect enjoyment
of what is pure? The moment he feels any disposition to rise, he is
stricken through as if with an arrow, and he drops. Not until weeks,
months, and even years have elapsed, does he feel justified in
surrendering himself to a noble emotion. I have heard of persons who
have been able to ascend easily and instantaneously from the mud to
the upper air, and descend as easily; but to me at least they are
incomprehensible.
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