ts were for the time
swallowed up in the stormier passions of the woman. She cared for it
and ministered to it, tenderly as ever, yet in a mechanical, automatic
sort of way, taking no comfort and finding no relief in her sweet duty.
It was the roar of the storm and the howling of temptation which
overwhelmed every other voice in her heart. Then there were practical
questions to be met. Mrs. Reverdy and her family at Elmfield, who could
guarantee that Evan would not get a furlough and come there too? Mrs.
Reverdy's words seemed to have some ultimate design, which they had not
indeed declared; they had the air of somewhat different from mere
aimless rattle or mischievous gossip. Suppose Evan were to come? What
then?

The baby went off to sleep, and was laid away in its crib, and the
mother stood alone at the window wrestling with her pain. She felt
helpless in the grasp of it as almost never before. Danger was looming
up and threatening dark in the distance; there might be a whirlwind
coming out of that storm quarter, and how was she going to stand in the
whirlwind? Beyond the wordless cry which meant "Lord help me!"--Diana
could hardly pray at all at this moment; and the feeling grew that she
must have human help. "Tell Basil"--a whisper said in her heart. She
had shunned that thought always; she had judged it no use; now she was
driven to it. He must know the whole. Perhaps then he could tell her
what to do.

As soon as Diana's mind through all its tossings and turnings had fixed
upon this point, she went immediately from thought to action. It was
twilight now, or almost. Basil would not come home in time for a talk
before supper; supper must be ready, so as to have no needless delay.
She could wait, now she knew what she would do; though there was a fire
burning at heart and brain. She went down-stairs and ordered something
to be got ready for supper; finished the arrangement of the tea-table,
which her husband liked to have very dainty; picked a rose for his
plate, though it seemed dreadful mockery; and as soon as she heard his
step at the door she made the tea. What an atmosphere of sweet, calm
brightness he brought in with him, and always brought. It struck Diana
now with the kind of a shiver which a person in a fever feels at the
touch of fresh air. Yet she recognised the beauty of it, and it
fortified her in her resolve. She would be true to this man, though she
died for it! There was nothing but truth in him.