me bold enough to ask
the poor creature to come in, and sit down in the boat-house, by my
side."

"Did she do so?"

"No. She shook her head, and told me she must stop where she was, to
watch and listen, and see that no third person surprised us. And from
first to last, there she waited at the entrance, with a hand on each
side of it, sometimes bending in suddenly to speak to me, sometimes
drawing back suddenly to look about her. 'I was here yesterday,' she
said, 'before it came dark, and I heard you, and the lady with you,
talking together. I heard you tell her about your husband. I heard
you say you had no influence to make him believe you, and no influence
to keep him silent. Ah! I knew what those words meant--my conscience
told me while I was listening. Why did I ever let you marry him! Oh,
my fear--my mad, miserable, wicked fear! 'She covered up her face in
her poor worn shawl, and moaned and murmured to herself behind it. I
began to be afraid she might break out into some terrible despair which
neither she nor I could master. 'Try to quiet yourself,' I said; 'try
to tell me how you might have prevented my marriage.' She took the
shawl from her face, and looked at me vacantly. 'I ought to have had
heart enough to stop at Limmeridge,' she answered. 'I ought never to
have let the news of his coming there frighten me away. I ought to
have warned you and saved you before it was too late. Why did I only
have courage enough to write you that letter? Why did I only do harm,
when I wanted and meant to do good? Oh, my fear--my mad, miserable,
wicked fear!' She repeated those words again, and hid her face again in
the end of her poor worn shawl. It was dreadful to see her, and
dreadful to hear her."

"Surely, Laura, you asked what the fear was which she dwelt on so
earnestly?"

"Yes, I asked that."

"And what did she say?"

"She asked me in return, if I should not be afraid of a man who had
shut me up in a mad-house, and who would shut me up again, if he could?
I said, 'Are you afraid still? Surely you would not be here if you were
afraid now?' 'No,' she said, 'I am not afraid now.' I asked why not.
She suddenly bent forward into the boat-house, and said, 'Can't you
guess why?' I shook my head. 'Look at me,' she went on. I told her I
was grieved to see that she looked very sorrowful and very ill. She
smiled for the first time. 'Ill?' she repeated; 'I'm dying. You know
why I'm not afraid of him now.