who believed it to be their duty to offer the left cheek after the
right had been smitten.

It is only just, however, to say that this was a precept more
honoured in the breach than the observance. The long-lipped, witch-burner
would draw blood with his knuckles; but he drew the line at the
sword. The state of public feeling upon duelling Roland very well
knew; and as he thought of Aster, with her sunny hair and glorious,
yearning eyes, and the exile that lay before him, a numb feeling of
despair began to gather about his heart. He was able to persuade
himself that she would look upon the unfortunate affair as necessary
for the assertion of his honour; but how could he hope for any
further happiness, a criminal in the law's eye, and an exile from the
country of Aster?

Why, however, he asked himself, was Aster the central figure in the
picture of desolation that he was painting? He had never given her
more than a passing thought before; had never thought of her save as
a frank, generous, sunny-hearted girl. Now he began to recall words
that she had spoken of which he had never before taken heed. The
rippling laugh, half like the notes of a silver bell, and half like
the trilling of a bob-o-link's song, came back like music now into
his desolate soul, making him all the more disconsolate that he was
never again to hear it. But had she not looked wistfully into his
eyes when he took her hand in the garden to say good-bye? Was such a
thought not comforting now? Ah no. Too truly has our poet sung it:

"Comfort! comfort scorned of devils, this is truth the poet sings;
--That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things."