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Chapter LXI
Let moralists and philosophers say what they may, it is very
questionable whether a guilty man would have felt half as much
misery that night, as Kit did, being innocent. The world, being in the
constant commission of vast quantities of injustice, is a little too apt
to comfort itself with the idea that if the victim of its falsehood and
malice have a clear conscience, he cannot fail to be sustained under
his trials, and somehow or other to come right at last; 'in which case,'
say they who have hunted him down, ' - though we certainly don't
expect it - nobody will be better pleased than we.' Whereas, the world
would do well to reflect, that injustice is in itself, to every generous
and properly constituted mind, an injury, of all others the most
insufferable, the most torturing, and the most hard to bear; and that
many clear consciences have gone to their account elsewhere, and
many sound hearts have broken, because of this very reason; the
knowledge of their own deserts only aggravating their sufferings, and
rendering them the less endurable.
The world, however, was not in fault in Kit's case. But Kit was
innocent; and knowing this, and feeling that his best friends deemed
him guilty - that Mr and Mrs Garland would look upon him as a
monster of ingratitude - that Barbara would associate him with all
that was bad and criminal - that the pony would consider himself
forsaken - and that even his own mother might perhaps yield to the
strong appearances against him, and believe him to be the wretch he
seemed - knowing and feeling all this, he experienced, at first, an
agony of mind which no words can describe, and walked up and down
the little cell in which he was locked up for the night, almost beside
himself with grief.
Even when the violence of these emotions had in some degree
subsided, and he was beginning to grow more calm, there came into
his mind a new thought, the anguish of which was scarcely less. The
child - the bright star of the simple fellow's life - she, who always came
back upon him like a beautiful dream - who had made the poorest
part of his existence, the happiest and best - who had ever been so
gentle, and considerate, and good - if she were ever to hear of this,
what would she think! As this idea occurred to him, the walls of the
prison seemed to melt away, and the old place to reveal itself in their
stead, as it was wont to be on winter nights - the fireside, the little
supper table, the old man's hat, and coat, and stick - the half-opened
door, leading to her little room - they were all there. And Nell herself
was there, and he - both laughing heartily as they had often done -
and when he had got as far as this, Kit could go no farther, but flung
himself upon his poor bedstead and wept.
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