he spur
of the moment, as similar instincts had prompted Tetchen to do the
same thing; but hardly the less on that account did she feel that
it was still her duty to persevere with that process of crushing by
which all human vanity was to be pressed out of Linda's heart. Peter
Steinmarc had misbehaved himself grossly, had appeared at that last
interview in a guise which could not have made him fascinating to any
young woman; but on that account the merit of submitting to him would
be so much the greater. There could hardly be any moral sackcloth and
ashes too coarse and too bitter for the correction of a sinful mind
in this world, but for the special correction of a mind sinful as
Linda's had been, marriage with such a man as Peter Steinmarc would
be sackcloth and ashes of the most salutary kind. The objection which
Linda would feel for the man would be the exact antidote to the
poison with which she had been infected by the influence of the Evil
One. Madame Staubach acknowledged, when she was asked the question,
that a woman should love her husband; but she would always go on to
describe this required love as a feeling which should spring from a
dutiful submission. She was of opinion that a virtuous child would
love his parent, that a virtuous servant would love her mistress,
that a virtuous woman would love her husband, even in spite of
austere severity on the part of him or her who might be in authority.
When, therefore, Linda would refer to what had taken place in the
parlour, and would ask whether it were possible that she should love
a man who had ill-used her so grossly, Madame Staubach would reply
as though love and forgiveness were one and the same thing. It was
Linda's duty to pardon the ill-usage and to kiss the rod that had
smitten her. "I hate him so deeply that my blood curdles at the sight
of him," Linda had replied. Then Madame Staubach had prayed that her
niece's heart might be softened, and had called upon Linda to join
her in these prayers. Poor Linda had felt herself compelled to go
down upon her knees and submit herself to such prayer as well as she
was able. Could she have enfranchised her mind altogether from the
trammels of belief in her aunt's peculiar religion, she might have
escaped from the waters which seemed from day to day to be closing
over her head; but this was not within her power. She asked herself
no questions as to the truth of these convictions. The doctrine had
been taught to her