All the day she wandered about the house, such thoughts as these
in her heart, and in her pocket a bottle of that concentrated
which Mr. Redmain was taking much diluted for medicine. But she
_hoped not to have to use it_. If only Mr. Redmain would
yield the conflict, and depart without another interview with the
lawyer!
But if he would not, and two drops from the said bottle, not
taken by herself, but by another, would save her, all her life to
come, from endless anxiety and grinding care, from weariness and
disgust, and indeed from want; nor that alone, but save likewise
that other from an hour, or two hours, or perhaps a week, or
possibly two weeks, or--who could tell?--it might be a month of
pain and moaning and weariness, would it not be well?--must it
not be more than well?
She had not learned to fear temptation; she feared poverty,
dependence, humiliation, labor, _ennui_, misery. The thought
of the life that must follow and wrap her round in the case of
the dreaded disclosure was unendurable; the thought of the
suggested frustration was not _so_ unendurable--was not
absolutely unendurable--was to be borne--might be permitted to
come--to return--was cogitated--now with imagined resistance, now
with reluctant and partial acceptance, now with faint resolve,
and now with determined resolution--now with the beaded drops
pouring from the forehead, and now with a cold, scornful smile of
triumphant foil and success.
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