to the glass, I am startled at my haggard, worn appearance.

Rachel has been to dress me, and says I have had a sad night of it, she
can see. Milicent has just looked in to ask me how I was. I told her I
was better, but to excuse my appearance admitted I had had a restless
night. I wish this day were over! I shudder at the thoughts of going
down to breakfast. How shall I encounter them all? Yet let me remember
it is not I that am guilty: I have no cause to fear; and if they scorn me
as a victim of their guilt, I can pity their folly and despise their
scorn.

CHAPTER XXXIV

Evening.--Breakfast passed well over: I was calm and cool throughout. I
answered composedly all inquiries respecting my health; and whatever was
unusual in my look or manner was generally attributed to the trifling
indisposition that had occasioned my early retirement last night. But
how am I to get over the ten or twelve days that must yet elapse before
they go? Yet why so long for their departure? When they are gone, how
shall I get through the months or years of my future life in company with
that man--my greatest enemy? for none could injure me as he has done.
Oh! when I think how fondly, how foolishly I have loved him, how madly I
have trusted him, how constantly I have laboured, and studied, and
prayed, and struggled for his advantage; and how cruelly he has trampled
on my love, betrayed my trust, scorned my prayers and tears, and efforts
for his preservation, crushed my hopes, destroyed my youth's best
feelings, and doomed me to a life of hopeless misery, as far as man can
do it, it is not enough to say that I no longer love my husband--I HATE
him! The word stares me in the face like a guilty confession, but it is
true: I hate him--I hate him! But God have mercy on his miserable soul!
and make him see and feel his guilt--I ask no other vengeance! If he
could but fully know and truly feel my wrongs I should be well avenged,
and I could freely pardon all; but he is so lost, so hardened in his
heartless depravity, that in this life I believe he never will. But it
is useless dwelling on this theme: let me seek once more to dissipate
reflection in the minor details of passing events.

Mr. Hargrave has annoyed me all day long with his serious, sympathising,
and (as he thinks) unobtrusive politeness. If it were more obtrusive it
would trouble me less, for then I could snub him; but, as it is, he
contrives to appear so really