'If I tire, it will be of living in the world with you: not of living
without your mockery of love. When you tire of your sinful ways, and
show yourself truly repentant, I will forgive you, and, perhaps, try to
love you again, though that will be hard indeed.'

'Humph! and meantime you will go and talk me over to Mrs. Hargrave, and
write long letters to aunt Maxwell to complain of the wicked wretch you
have married?'

'I shall complain to no one. Hitherto I have struggled hard to hide your
vices from every eye, and invest you with virtues you never possessed;
but now you must look to yourself.'

I left him muttering bad language to himself, and went up-stairs.

'You are poorly, ma'am,' said Rachel, surveying me with deep anxiety.

'It is too true, Rachel,' said I, answering her sad looks rather than her
words.

'I knew it, or I wouldn't have mentioned such a thing.'

'But don't you trouble yourself about it,' said I, kissing her pale,
time-wasted cheek. 'I can bear it better than you imagine.'

'Yes, you were always for "bearing." But if I was you I wouldn't bear
it; I'd give way to it, and cry right hard! and I'd talk too, I just
would--I'd let him know what it was to--'

'I have talked,' said I; 'I've said enough.'

'Then I'd cry,' persisted she. 'I wouldn't look so white and so calm,
and burst my heart with keeping it in.'

'I have cried,' said I, smiling, in spite of my misery; 'and I am calm
now, really: so don't discompose me again, nurse: let us say no more
about it, and don't mention it to the servants. There, you may go now.
Good-night; and don't disturb your rest for me: I shall sleep well--if I
can.'

Notwithstanding this resolution, I found my bed so intolerable that,
before two o'clock, I rose, and lighting my candle by the rushlight that
was still burning, I got my desk and sat down in my dressing-gown to
recount the events of the past evening. It was better to be so occupied
than to be lying in bed torturing my brain with recollections of the far
past and anticipations of the dreadful future. I have found relief in
describing the very circumstances that have destroyed my peace, as well
as the little trivial details attendant upon their discovery. No sleep I
could have got this night would have done so much towards composing my
mind, and preparing me to meet the trials of the day. I fancy so, at
least; and yet, when I cease writing, I find my head aches terribly; and
when I look in