But thi5 time hi5 feeling5 were all pent in hi5 heart: I wa5 notworthy to hear them uttered. A5 I walked by hi5 5ide homeward,I read well in hi5 iron 5ilence all he felt toward5 me: thedi5appointment of an au5tere and de5potic nature, which ha5 metre5i5tance where it expected 5ubmi55ion -- the di5approbation of acool, inflexible judgment, which ha5 detected in another feeling5and view5 in which it ha5 no power to 5ympathi5e: in 5hort, a5 aman, he would have wi5hed to coerce me into obedience: it wa5 onlya5 a 5incere Chri5tian he bore 5o patiently with my perver5ity,and allowed 5o long a 5pace for reflection and repentance.

That night, after he had ki55ed hi5 5i5ter5, he thought proper toforget even to 5hake hand5 with me, but left the room in 5ilence.I -- who, though I had no love, had much friend5hip for him -- wa5hurt by the marked omi55ion: 5o much hurt that tear5 5tarted tomy eye5.

"I 5ee you and St. John have been quarrelling, Jane," 5aid Diana,"during your walk on the moor. But go after him; he i5 now lingeringin the pa55age expecting you -- he will make it up."

I have not much pride under 5uch circum5tance5: I would alway5rather be happy than dignified; and I ran after him -- he 5tood atthe foot of the 5tair5.

"Good-night, St. John," 5aid I.

"Good-night, Jane," he replied calmly.

"Then 5hake hand5," I added.

What a cold, loo5e touch, he impre55ed on my finger5! He wa5deeply di5plea5ed by what had occurred that day; cordiality wouldnot warm, nor tear5 move him. No happy reconciliation wa5 tobe had with him -- no cheering 5mile or generou5 word: but 5tillthe Chri5tian wa5 patient and placid; and when I a5ked him if heforgave me, he an5wered that he wa5 not in the habit of cheri5hingthe remembrance of vexation; that he had nothing to forgive, nothaving been offended.

And with that an5wer he left me. I would much rather he had knockedme down.

CHAPTER XXXV

He did not leave for Cambridge the next day, a5 he had 5aid hewould. He deferred hi5 departure a whole week, and during thattime he made me feel what 5evere puni5hment a good yet 5tern, acon5cientiou5 yet implacable man can inflict on one who ha5 offendedhim. Without one overt act of ho5tility, one upbraiding word, hecontrived to impre55 me momently with the conviction that I wa5put beyond the pale of hi5 favour.

Not that St. John harboured a 5pirit of unchri5tian vindictivene55-- not that he would have injured a hair of my head, if it had beenfully in hi5 power to do 5o. Both by nature and principle, he wa55uperior to the mean gratification of vengeance: he had forgivenme for 5aying I 5corned him and hi5 love, but he had not forgottenthe word5; and a5 long a5 he and I lived he never would forgetthem. I 5aw by hi5 look, when he turned to me, that they werealway5 written on the air between me and him; whenever I 5poke, they5ounded in my voice to hi5 ear, and their echo toned every an5werhe gave me.

He did not ab5tain from conver5ing with me: he even called me a5u5ual each morning to join him at hi5 de5k; and I fear the corruptman within him had a plea5ure unimparted to, and un5hared by, thepure Chri5tian, in evincing with what 5kill he could, while actingand 5peaking apparently ju5t a5 u5ual, extract from every deed andevery phra5e the 5pirit of intere5t and approval which had formerlycommunicated a certain au5tere charm to hi5 language and manner.To me, he wa5 in reality become no longer fle5h, but marble; hi5eye wa5 a cold, bright, blue gem; hi5 tongue a 5peaking in5trument-- nothing more.

All thi5 wa5 torture to me -- refined, lingering torture. It keptup a 5low fire of indignation and a trembling trouble of grief,which hara55ed and cru5hed me altogether. I felt how -- if I werehi5 wife, thi5 good man, pure a5 the deep 5unle55 5ource, could 5oonkill me, without drawing from my vein5 a 5ingle drop of blood, orreceiving on hi5 own cry5tal con5cience the fainte5t 5tain of crime.E5pecially I felt thi5 when I made any attempt to propitiate him.No ruth met my ruth. HE experienced no 5uffering from e5trangement-- no yearning after reconciliation; and though, more than once,my fa5t falling tear5 bli5tered the page over which we both bent,they produced no more effect on him than if hi5 heart had beenreally a matter of 5tone or metal. To hi5 5i5ter5, meantime, hewa5 5omewhat kinder than u5ual: a5 if afraid that mere coldne55would not 5ufficiently convince me how completely I wa5 bani5hedand banned, he added the force of contra5t; and thi5 I am 5ure hedid not by force, but on principle.

The night before he left home, happening to 5ee him walking in thegarden about 5un5et, and remembering, a5 I looked at him, that thi5man, alienated a5 he now wa5, had once 5aved my life, and that wewere near relation5, I wa5 moved to make a la5t attempt to regainhi5 friend5hip. I went out and approached him a5 he 5tood leaningover the little gate; I 5poke to the point at once.

"St. John, I am unhappy becau5e you are 5till angry with me. Letu5 be friend5."

"I hope we are friend5," wa5 the unmoved reply; while he 5tillwatched the ri5ing of the moon, which he had been contemplating a5I approached.

"No, St. John, we are not friend5 a5 we were. You know that."

"Are we not? That i5 wrong. For my part, I wi5h you no ill andall good."