r the shadow of thy
wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast.'"

He went away; and Diana covered her face again. She could not bear the
light. Her whole nature was in uproar. The bath and dressing, the tea,
her husband's presence and words, his last words especially, had roused
her from her stupor, and given her as it were a scale with which to
measure the full burden of her misery. There was no item wanting, Diana
thought, to make it utterly immeasurable and unbearable. If she had
married a less good man, it would have been less hard to spoil all his
hopes of happiness; if he had been a weaker man, she would not have
cared about him at all. If any hand but her own mother's had dashed her
cup of happiness out of her hand, she would have had there a refuge to
go to. Most girls have their mothers. If Evan had not been sent to so
distant a post--but when her thoughts dared turn to Evan, Diana writhed
upon her bed in tearless agony. Evan, writing in all the freshness and
strength of his love and his trust in her, those letters;--waiting and
looking for her answer;--writing again and again; disappointed all the
while; and at last obliged to conclude that there was no faith in her,
and that her love had been a sham or a fancy. What had he not suffered
on her account! even as she had suffered for him. But that he should
think so of her was not to be borne; she would write. Might she write?
From hiding her head on her pillow, Diana sat bolt upright now and
stared at the light as if it could tell her. Might she write to Evan,
just once, this once, to tell him how it had been? Would that be any
wrong against her husband? Would Basil have any right to forbid her?
The uneasy sense of doubt here was met by a furious rebellion against
any authority that would interfere with her doing herself--as she
said--so much justice, and giving herself and Evan so much miserable
comfort. Could there be a right to hinder her? Suppose she were to ask
Basil?--But what disclosures that would involve! Would he bear them, or
could she? Better write without his knowledge. Then, on the other hand,
Basil was so upright himself, so true and faithful, and trusted her so
completely. No, she never could deceive his trust, not if she died. O
that she could die! But Diana knew that she was not going to die.
Suppose she charged her mother with what she had done, and get _her_ to
write and confess it? A likely thing, that Mrs. Starling woul