Oh matchless
magic of the human heart, which confounds all the hypotheses of science,
and flouts all its explanations!
It was that evening when he and Lady Mary sat in sweet converse that she
said to him these words, which he hung for ever after about his heart--
"Surely, never before did a man win a wife as you have won me! You made
me well by putting your own life into me; so what could I do but give
you the life that was already your own!"
Thus day followed day on golden wings: Lefevre in the morning occupied
with the patients that thronged his consulting-room; in the afternoon
dispensing healing, and, where healing was impossible, cheerfulness and
courage, in his hospital wards; and in the evening finding inspiration
and strength in the company of Lady Mary--for her love was to him better
than wine. All who went to him in those days found him changed, and in a
sense glorified. He had always been considerate and kind; but the
weakness, the folly, and the wickedness of poor human nature, which were
often laid bare to his searching scrutiny, had frequently plunged him
into a welter of despondency and shame, out of which he would cry, "Alas
for God's image! Alas for the temple of the Holy Ghost!" But in those
days it seemed as if disease and death appeared to him mere trivial
accidents of life, with the result that no "case," however bad, was sent
away empty of hope.
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