telling him the secret of his
daughter's morning walks, before my better sense came back to me. When
I did cool down, I turned round at once, and took the way home. No, no,
Miss Milroy; mere temporary mischief-making at the cottage, which would
only end in your father forgiving you, and in Armadale profiting by his
indulgence, will nothing like pay the debt I owe you. I don't forget
that your heart is set on Armadale; and that the major, however he may
talk, has always ended hitherto in giving you your own way. My head may
be getting duller and duller, but it has not quite failed me yet.

"In the meantime, there is Mother Oldershaw's letter waiting obstinately
to be answered; and here am I, not knowing what to do about it yet.
Shall I answer it or not? It doesn't matter for the present; there are
some hours still to spare before the post goes out.

"Suppose I asked Armadale to lend me the money? I should enjoy getting
_something_ out of him; and I believe, in his present situation with
Miss Milroy, he would do anything to be rid of me. Mean enough this, on
my part. Pooh! When you hate and despise a man, as I hate and despise
Armadale, who cares for looking mean in _his_ eyes?

"And yet my pride--or my something else, I don't know what--shrinks from
it.

"Half-past two--only half-past two. Oh, the dreadful weariness of these
long summer days! I can't keep thinking and thinking any longer; I must
do something to relieve my mind. Can I go to my piano? No; I'm not fit
for it. Work? No; I shall get thinking again if I take to my needle. A
man, in my place, would find refuge in drink. I'm not a man, and I can't
drink. I'll dawdle over my dresses, and put my things tidy."

* * * * *

"Has an hour passed? More than an hour. It seems like a minute.

"I can't look back through these leaves, but I know I wrote somewhere
that I felt myself getting nearer and nearer to some end that was still
hidden from me. The end is hidden no longer. The cloud is off my mind,
the blindness has gone from my eyes. I see it! I see it!

"It came to me--I never sought it. If I was lying on my death-bed, I
could swear, with a safe conscience, I never sought it.

"I was only looking over my things; I was as idly and as frivolously
employed as the most idle and most frivolous woman living. I went
through my dresses, and my linen. What could be more innocent? Children
go through their dresses and their linen.

"It was, such a long summer day, a