ust be embittered to her. And your own
course would become too difficult. We agreed at Genoa that the burden
on your conscience is one what no one ought to be admitted to the
knowledge of. The future beneficence of your life will be best
furthered by your saving all others from the pain of that knowledge. In
my opinion you ought simply to abide by the provisions of your
husband's will, and let your remorse tell only on the use that you will
make of your monetary independence."

In uttering the last sentence Deronda automatically took up his hat
which he had laid on the floor beside him. Gwendolen, sensitive to his
slightest movement, felt her heart giving a great leap, as if it too
had a consciousness of its own, and would hinder him from going: in the
same moment she rose from her chair, unable to reflect that the
movement was an acceptance of his apparent intention to leave her; and
Deronda, of course, also rose, advancing a little.

"I will do what you tell me," said Gwendolen, hurriedly; "but what else
shall I do?" No other than these simple words were possible to her; and
even these were too much for her in a state of emotion where her proud
secrecy was disenthroned: as the child-like sentences fell from her
lips they re-acted on her like a picture of her own helplessness, and
she could not check the sob which sent the large tears to her eyes.
Deronda, too, felt a crushing pain; but imminent consequences were
visible to him, and urged him to the utmost exertion of conscience.
When she had pressed her tears away, he said, in a gently questioning
tone--

"You will probably be soon going with Mrs. Davilow into the country."

"Yes, in a week or ten days." Gwendolen waited an instant, turning her
eyes vaguely toward the window, as if looking at some imagined
prospect. "I want to be kind to them all--they can be happier than I
can. Is that the best I can do?"

"I think so. It is a duty that cannot be doubtful," said Deronda. He
paused a little between his sentences, feeling a weight of anxiety on
all his words. "Other duties will spring from it. Looking at your life
as a debt may seem the dreariest view of things at a distance; but it
cannot really be so. What makes life dreary is the want of motive: but
once beginning to act with that penitential, loving purpose you have in
your mind, there will be unexpected satisfactions--there will be
newly-opening needs--continually coming to carry you on from day to
day. You