usness.
In her own words, "The sarcasms of society and the condemnation of a
mistaken world were nothing to her, compared with acting contrary to
those feelings which were the foundation of her principles." For some
months Eliza's physical and mental illness made it impossible to take a
decided step or to form definite plans. But when her child was born, and
she returned to a normal, though at the same time sadder, because
conscious, state, Mary felt that the time for action had arrived. That
she still thought it advisable for her sister to leave her husband,
though this necessitated the abandonment of her child, conclusively
proves the seriousness of Bishop's faults. It was no easy matter to
effect the separation. Bishop objected to it. It is never unpleasant for
a man to play the tyrant, and he was averse to losing his victim.
Pecuniary assistance was therefore not to be had from him, and the
sisters were penniless. Mary applied to Edward, though she was not sure
it was desirable for Eliza to take refuge with him. However, he does not
seem to have responded warmly, for Mary's suggestion was never acted
upon. Theirs was a situation in which friends are not apt to interfere,
and besides, Bishop's plausibility had won over not a few to his side.
Furthermore, the chance was that if he worked successfully upon Mr.
Skeys' sympathies, the Bloods would be influenced. There was absolutely
no one to help them, but Mary knew that it was useless to wait, and that
the morrow would not make easier what seemed to her the task of the
present day. When there was work to be done she never could rest with
"unlit lamp and ungirt loin." What she now most wanted for her sister was
liberty, and she resolved to secure this at once, and then afterwards to
look about her to see how it was to be maintained.

Accordingly, one day, Bishop well out of the way, the sisters left his
house forever. There was a mad, breathless drive, Bess, with her insanity
half returned, biting her wedding ring to pieces, a hurried exchange of
coaches to further insure escape from detection, a joyful arrival at
modest lodgings in Hackney, a giving in of false names, a hasty locking
of doors, and then--the reaction. Eliza, whose excitement had exhausted
itself on the way, became quiet and even ready for sleep. Mary, now that
immediate necessity for calmness and courage was over, grew nervous and
restless. With strained ears she listened to every sound. Her heart beat