If I
wake in the night--and I wake so often!--I think of it the first thing.
If I could get right away from it, perhaps there might be a chance; but
how can I get away?"
"Have you ever thought of what it must lead to?" he asked, wondering at
the power the terrible sin had already gained over her.
"Thought!" she cried, "I think of it constantly. David will hate me when
he comes home, if I cannot conquer it before then. But what am I to do?
I cannot write to him unless I take it. No; I cannot even pray to God,
when I am so utterly miserable. It would be better for me to be some
poor man's wife, and drudge for my husband and children, than to have
nothing to do, and be so much alone. There must be some way of escaping
from it; but I cannot find it."
This way of escape--how could he find it for her? It was a question that
occupied his thoughts day and night. There was one way, but Mrs. Bolton
firmly persisted in closing it, and no other seemed open to her. He
could not make known this difficulty to his friend, David Chantrey; for
it would be a death-blow to him literally.
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