Oh, it is not just! I cannot forgive
God for robbing him of all his honors, and me of all my happiness."
So lamented Christie with the rebellious protest of a strong nature
learning submission through the stern discipline of grief. In vain
Mr. Power told her that David had received a better reward than any
human hand could give him, in the gratitude of many women, the
respect of many men. That to do bravely the daily duties of an
upright life was more heroic in God's sight, than to achieve in an
enthusiastic moment a single deed that won the world's applause; and
that the seeming incompleteness of his life was beautifully rounded
by the act that caused his death, although no eulogy recorded it, no
song embalmed it, and few knew it but those he saved, those he
loved, and the Great Commander who promoted him to the higher rank
he had won.
Christie could not be content with this invisible, intangible
recompense for her hero: she wanted to see, to know beyond a doubt,
that justice had been done; and beat herself against the barrier
that baffles bereaved humanity till impatient despair was wearied
out, and passionate heart gave up the struggle.
Then, when no help seemed possible, she found it where she least
expected it, in herself.
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