let us therefore have the emotions. This was the reason he gave
to himself; but this refined Mormonism of the heart was not
based on reason, but on temperament and habit. In such matters
logic is only for the by-standers.

His very generosity harmed him, as all our good qualities may
harm us when linked with bad ones; he had so many excuses for
doing kindnesses to his friends, it was hard to quarrel with
him if he did them too tenderly. He was no more capable of
unkindness than of constancy; and so strongly did he fix the
allegiance of those who loved him, that the women to whom he
had caused most anguish would still defend him when accused;
would have crossed the continent, if needed, to nurse him in
illness, and would have rained rivers of tears on his grave.
To do him justice, he would have done almost as much for
them,--for any of them. He could torture a devoted heart, but
only through a sort of half-wilful unconsciousness; he could
not bear to see tears shed in his presence, nor to let his
imagination dwell very much on those which flowed in his
absence. When he had once loved a woman, or even fancied that
he loved her, he built for her a shrine that was never
dismantled, and in which a very little faint incense would
sometimes be found burning for years after; he never quite
ceased to feel a languid thrill at the mention of her name; he
would make even for a past love the most generous sacrifices of
time, convenience, truth perhaps,--everything, in short, but
the present love. To those who had given him all that an
undivided heart can give he would deny nothing but an undivided
heart in return. The misfortune was that this was the only
thing they cared to possess.