Imperceptibly repentance brought him under the influence of the divine
grace that soothes while it bruises the heart so terribly. His face
came to wear a look of Melmoth, something great, with a trace of
madness in the greatness--a look of dull and hopeless distress,
mingled with the excited eagerness of hope, and, beneath it all, a
gnawing sense of loathing for all that the world can give. The
humblest of prayers lurked in the eyes that saw with such dreadful
clearness. His power was the measure of his anguish. His body was
bowed down by the fearful storm that shook his soul, as the tall pines
bend before the blast. Like his predecessor, he could not refuse to
bear the burden of life; he was afraid to die while he bore the yoke
of hell. The torment grew intolerable.
At last, one morning, he bethought himself how that Melmoth (now among
the blessed) had made the proposal of an exchange, and how that he had
accepted it; others, doubtless, would follow his example; for in an
age proclaimed, by the inheritors of the eloquence of the Fathers of
the Church, to be fatally indifferent to religion, it should be easy
to find a man who would accept the conditions of the contract in order
to prove its advantages.
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