in curtain of her
window, and, watching him, passed through an extraordinarily rapid
sequence of emotions.

The horse was a chestnut, and it stepped lightly and springily. As she
thought of how and when she had last seen its rider, she felt a
sensation that was like helplessness, shame, and fear all mingled. It
was as though her whole body, muscles, flesh and nerves, quailed and
grew weak at the mere sight of him; as though inherited instincts were
controlling her, and would always control her whenever she was in his
presence; as though she the descendant of serfs must infallibly submit
to the descendant of lords--must forever fear the man who had been her
master even when he was her lover. Rationally she hated him for the
harm that he had done her, but instinctively she feared him for the
further harm that he might yet have power to do.

And together with the hatred and the fear, there was a pitiful
sneaking admiration. He looked so grand and unruffled--so old, and yet
sitting the skittish, high-mettled horse so firmly; so feeble, and yet
full of such an absolute confidence in his power to rule and
subordinate, accustomed for forty years to the unfailing subjection of
such things as servants, horses, and women. Her heart bumped against
her stays, and her face became red and then white, when she thought
that he intended to stop at the post office and ask for her. But he
rode on--gave one glance up toward the windows from which she shrank
still further, and rode by, right down the street, with the horse
swishing its long tail and seeming to dance in a light amble.

Then, as soon as he disappeared, the spell was broken.

In all that she had confessed to her husband she had been sincere; but
hers was a simple and easy going nature, and exaltation could not be
long sustained. After excitement she returned rapidly to a passive and
unimaginative level; and now, quietly brooding, she could not do
otherwise than justify herself for all that had happened.

At the end of everything she felt a deep-seated conviction that she
was in truth blameless. She was not a bad woman. Therefore it would be
wicked to treat her as a sinner and an outcast. Sinners did wrong
because they enjoyed the sin; but she had never been vicious, or even
selfishly anxious for pleasure. Pleasure! She had never cared for that
sort of thing. Girls of her own age used to talk to her about it, and
what they said was almost incomprehensible. She had never ha