live with him. No; he must contrive to bear with me.

'I must contrive to bear with you, you mean,' said I; 'for so long as I
discharge my functions of steward and house-keeper, so conscientiously
and well, without pay and without thanks, you cannot afford to part with
me. I shall therefore remit these duties when my bondage becomes
intolerable.' This threat, I thought, would serve to keep him in check,
if anything would.

I believe he was much disappointed that I did not feel his offensive
sayings more acutely, for when he had said anything particularly well
calculated to hurt my feelings, he would stare me searchingly in the
face, and then grumble against my 'marble heart' or my 'brutal
insensibility.' If I had bitterly wept and deplored his lost affection,
he would, perhaps, have condescended to pity me, and taken me into favour
for a while, just to comfort his solitude and console him for the absence
of his beloved Annabella, until he could meet her again, or some more
fitting substitute. Thank heaven, I am not so weak as that! I was
infatuated once with a foolish, besotted affection, that clung to him in
spite of his unworthiness, but it is fairly gone now--wholly crushed and
withered away; and he has none but himself and his vices to thank for it.

At first (in compliance with his sweet lady's injunctions, I suppose), he
abstained wonderfully well from seeking to solace his cares in wine; but
at length he began to relax his virtuous efforts, and now and then
exceeded a little, and still continues to do so; nay, sometimes, not a
little. When he is under the exciting influence of these excesses, he
sometimes fires up and attempts to play the brute; and then I take little
pains to suppress my scorn and disgust. When he is under the depressing
influence of the after-consequences, he bemoans his sufferings and his
errors, and charges them both upon me; he knows such indulgence injures
his health, and does him more harm than good; but he says I drive him to
it by my unnatural, unwomanly conduct; it will be the ruin of him in the
end, but it is all my fault; and then I am roused to defend myself,
sometimes with bitter recrimination. This is a kind of injustice I
cannot patiently endure. Have I not laboured long and hard to save him
from this very vice? Would I not labour still to deliver him from it if
I could? but could I do so by fawning upon him and caressing him when I
know that he scorns me? Is it my fa