Out in the World CHAPTER 22.
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Weeks gathered themselves into months — but no tidings of his wife came to Carl Jansen. All inquiry proved fruitless. She had dropped away from public observation, like a pebble in the sea, and not even a ripple was left to guide the searcher.
Jansen did not hesitate in the work of dismembering his home. At a public sale, everything was dispersed, not an article being left to remind him of a desolated paradise. Madeline's three trunks were stored, in order to be sent whenever the place of her retirement was discovered. Previous to this, no very marked change had appeared in Jansen. He was only a little graver in manner. The excitement always attendant on a state of uncertainty, had kept him up. But, now that all this waiting and uncertainty were over — now that he had taken down the household altar, and dispersed its broken fragments — he experienced a sense of desolation that was almost intolerable. The foundation upon which he had built his temple of earthly happiness, was removed; the temple was gone; and he was out in the sun and storm, shelterless. Everyone noticed a change in Carl Jansen after this. Inward working pain, cut its signs upon his features. He was reserved beyond his usual — absent minded — shy of company. This state continued for over a year, during which period no news came to him of Madeline. He had long ceased to make any inquiries in regard to her.
About this time, he caused notice of a suit for divorce to be given. The plea was desertion. No response came; and in due legal course, the marriage contract was annulled. So far as external bonds were concerned, Carl Jansen stood free again. But was he conscious of inner freedom? Did all stand with him as it had stood before his promise in the sight of Heaven — to love and cherish Madeline so long as life should last? Was she really nothing to him now, more than any other woman? Could he think of her as indifferently as he could think of others? No! that was impossible! The divorce had not made him free — could not make him free. It was not in the power of legislatures nor courts to break innerbonds — to satisfy conscience — to put a man right with God and his own spirit, when he was wrong interiorly.
Carl Jansen had intended to put all the former things of his life behind him. This act of legal separation was to restore the status which existed prior to marriage. Alas! for his peace of mind; it wrought no such magical result. There lived a woman — where he did not know — with whom he had stood at the altar, and exchanged vows of lasting fidelity. He knew of nothing against her purity of life; of nothing that could work a plenary separation, and so an interior divorce. There had been incompatibilities; jarrings and alienations— but all flowing from lack of self-discipline on one side or the other. It was the evil things of the mind that were to be separated — divorced — not the living souls. Somewhere, in teachings by pulpit or press, this truth had found its way into his mind, and it proved troublesome. It was a sword flashing before his eyes, or cutting down into his life. It would not let him be at peace.
It took all of another year for the crust to harden over this new state of feeling. In the meantime he had gone more into society; and as he was a man of good personal appearance, known integrity of character, and in excellent circumstances, many fair lips smiled upon him, and many bright eyes sought to win him by their magic. But, he was not of easy fascination. There was ever a disturbing inner consciousness of a woman's claim upon him — yet uncancelled, which sat itself against all these allurements.
The time came when all the past was so hidden from view, that Carl Jansen could look upon another woman with loving eyes, and draw near to her with loving words. From among the fair beings who crossed his way, he selected Margaret Williams as the best and worthiest to hold the high relation of a wife. He chose with a keen perception of womanly qualities; but sought to mate with one who had loftier views of marriage than he possessed. His offer was declined. Now, Jansen was not of that class of people who, when they make up their minds to attain a certain end, are easily baffled. He was not over sensitive, and the denial of his suit did not, therefore, wound his pride very deeply. He saw in Miss Williams a woman above all others desirable for a wife; and he meant to gain her for himself if that were possible. "Faint heart never won fair lady," he said to himself, and pressed his suit again. This time, Margaret Williams gave him something more than a simple refusal.
"Sir," she answered, sternly, "have I not once said no! Mr. Jansen, others may think as they please — but I regard an offer of marriage from you, as little better than an insult! Do you understand me?"
Her eyes flashed with unusual fire.
"An insult! No, I do not understand you."
"You have a wife, sir!"
Carl Jansen turned pale.
"God's law is above all human law," said Miss Williams. "What God joins, it is not for man to put asunder until divine law works a separation. I have not heard that this is so in your case. You gave in no plea but that of desertion; and this works to no annulling of the marriage bond in the sight of God. Sir, your offer of marriage sent a shudder through my soul! And, now that you have presumed on its repetition, I make bold to say — what another might hesitate to declare."
Jansen attempted a feeble argument — but Miss Williams waved her hand that he might keep silence, and then turned from him with a cold dignity of manner that scarcely veiled her contempt and aversion. He never troubled her again.
But all the women he met, did not possess the pure instincts and high principle of Margaret Williams. There were plenty who fixing their eyes on lower and more worldly things than she, made primary in marriage, were ready to meet him in exchange of vows and obligations the most sacred and the most vital to the soul's well being and peace of any that are made. Jansen did not lack discrimination — was no dull reader of character. He saw the wide difference between this class of women — and the class represented by Margaret Williams; and for a time held himself away from the sphere of their attractions. Moreover, the outspoken rebuke which she had administered did not die upon his ears like murmurs of the idle wind; but quickened his thought into perceptions that troubled his peace.
Time moved on. Jansen, standing lonely in the world, strongly desired companionship. Because of an unhappy experience in marriage — because of one sad shipwreck — must there be no further venture? He did not believe in this necessity of the case. His nature rose against it in protest. He wanted a home — domestic associations — a family in which he might embosom himself. Once more in his life, all the beautiful ideals of marriage and its felicities crowded his imagination. Ardor of feeling began to obscure his judgment; and, finally, he made an offer of his hand to one who, contrasted at first in his thought with Margaret Williams, dropped below the line of even respectful consideration. She was but a woman of the world, beside whom, as to fine instincts and capacities for womanly development, Madeline was a being of higher order.
How it fared with him in this new relation, we shall see.
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