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VII. The Night of the Sixth of November

           Thewingsofhersoulwerebrokenbythecruelobstructivenessofallabouther;andevenhadsheseenherselfinapromisingwayofgettingtoBudmouth,enteringasteamer,andsailingtosomeoppositeport,shewouldhavebeenbutlittlemorebuoyant,sofearfullymalignantwereotherthings.Sheutteredwordsaloud.Whenawomaninsuchasituation,neitherold,deaf,crazed,norwhimsical,takesuponherselftosobandsoliloquizealoudthereissomethinggrievousthematter.

           “CanIgo,canIgo?”shemoaned.“He’snotGREATenoughformetogivemyselfto—hedoesnotsufficeformydesire!...IfhehadbeenaSauloraBonaparte—ah!Buttobreakmymarriagevowforhim—itistoopooraluxury!...AndIhavenomoneytogoalone!AndifIcould,whatcomforttome?Imustdragonnextyear,asIhavedraggedonthisyear,andtheyearafterthatasbefore.HowIhavetriedandtriedtobeasplendidwoman,andhowdestinyhasbeenagainstme!...Idonotdeservemylot!”shecriedinafrenzyofbitterrevolt.“O,thecrueltyofputtingmeintothisill-conceivedworld!Iwascapableofmuch;butIhavebeeninjuredandblightedandcrushedbythingsbeyondmycontrol!O,howharditisofHeaventodevisesuchtorturesforme,whohavedonenoharmtoHeavenatall!”

           ThedistantlightwhichEustaciahadcursorilyobservedinleavingthehousecame,asshehaddivined,fromthecottagewindowofSusanNunsuch.WhatEustaciadidnotdivinewastheoccupationofthewomanwithinatthatmoment.

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