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n the moor。 But go after him; he is now lingering in the passage expecting you—he will make it up。”
I have not much pride under such circumstances: I would always rather be happy than dignified; and I ran after him—he stood at the foot of the stairs。
“Good…night; St。 John;” said I。
“Good…night; Jane;” he replied calmly。
“Then shake hands;” I added。
What a cold; loose touch; he impressed on my fingers! He was deeply displeased by what had occurred that day; cordiality would not warm; nor tears move him。 No happy reconciliation was to be had with him—no cheering smile or generous word: but still the Christian was patient and placid; and when I asked him if he forgave me; he answered that he was not in the habit of cherishing the remembrance of vexation; that he had nothing to forgive; not having been offended。
And with that answer he left me。 I would much rather he had knocked me down。
Chapter 35
He did not leave for Cambridge the next day; as he had said he would。 He deferred his departure a whole week; and during that time he made me feel what severe punishment a good yet stern; a conscientious yet implacable man can inflict on one who has offended him。 Without one overt act of hostility; one upbraiding word; he contrived to impress me momently with the conviction that I was put beyond the pale of his favour。
Not that St。 John harboured a spirit of unchristian vindictiveness— not that he would have injured a hair of my head; if it had been fully in his power to do so。 Both by nature and principle; he was superior to the mean gratification of vengeance: he had forgiven me for saying I scorned him and his love; but he had not forgotten the words; and as long as he and I lived he never would forget them。 I saw
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