ing
on that account hopelessly depraved--then, and, in these cases only, the
probabilities would point to Philip as a man likely to be the better and
the happier for his situation, when the bonds of wedlock had got him.

But the serious question was not answered yet.

Could I feel justified in placing Eunice in the position toward Philip
which I have just endeavored to describe? I dared not allow my mind to
dwell on the generosity which had so nobly pardoned him, or on the force
of character which had bravely endured the bitterest disappointment, the
cruelest humiliation. The one consideration which I was bound to face,
was the sacred consideration of her happiness in her life to come.

Leaving Philip, with a few words of sympathy which might help him to
bear his suspense, I went to my room to think.

The time passed--and I could arrive at no positive conclusion. Either
way--with or without Philip--the contemplation of Eunice's future
harassed me with doubt. Even if I had conquered my own indecision, and
had made up my mind to sanction the union of the two young people, the
difficulties that now beset me would not have been dispersed. Knowing
what I alone knew, I could certainly remove Eunice's one objection to
the marriage. In other words, I had only to relate what had happened on
the day when the Chaplain brought the Minister to the prison, and the
obstacle of their union would be removed. But, without considering
Philip, it was simply out of the question to do this, in mercy to Eunice
herself. What was Helena's disgrace, compared with the infamy which
stained the name of the poor girl's mother! The other alternative of
telling her part of the truth only was before me, if I could persuade
myself to adopt it. I failed to persuade myself; my morbid anxiety for
her welfare made me hesitate again. Human patience could endure no
more. Rashness prevailed and prudence yielded--I left my decision to be
influenced by the coming interview with Eunice.

The next day I drove to the farm. Philip's entreaties persuaded me
to let him be my companion, on one condition--that he waited in the
carriage while I went into the house.

I had carefully arranged my ideas, and had decided on proceeding with
the greatest caution, before I ventured on saying the all-important
words which, once spoken, were not to be recalled. The worst of those
anxieties, under which the delicate health of Mr. Gracedieu had broken
down, was my anxiety now.