e "cat," in three applications of ten--so is
Jane's punishment laid on at intervals; not more than she can bear at a
time; but enough to keep her heart continually sore, and her spirit in
perpetual dread. And you, dear, clever doctor, are proved perfectly
right in your diagnosis of the sentiment of the case. He says her pity
would be the last straw on his already heavy cross; and the expression
is an apt one, her pity for him being indeed a thing of straw. The only
pity she feels is pity for herself, thus hopelessly caught in the
meshes of her own mistake. But how to make him realise this, is the
puzzle.

Do you remember how the Israelites were shut in, between Migdol and the
sea? I knew Migdol meant "towers," but I never understood the passage,
until I stood upon that narrow wedge of desert, with the Red Sea in
front and on the left; the rocky range of Gebel Attaka on the right,
towering up against the sky, like the weird shapes of an impregnable
fortress; the sole outlet or inlet behind, being the route they had
just travelled from Egypt, and along which the chariots and horsemen of
Pharaoh were then thundering in hot pursuit. Even so, Boy, is poor Jane
now tramping her patch of desert, which narrows daily to the measure of
her despair. Migdol is HIS certainty that HER love could only be pity.
The Red Sea is the confession into which she must inevitably plunge, to
avoid scaling Migdol; in the chill waters of which, as she drags him in
with her, his love is bound to drown, as waves of doubt and mistrust
sweep over its head,--doubts which he has lost the power of removing;
mistrust which he can never hope to prove to have been false and
mistaken. And behind come galloping the hosts of Pharaoh; chance,
speeding on the wheels of circumstance. At any moment some accident may
compel a revelation; and instantly HE will be scaling rocky Migdol,
with torn hands and bleeding feet; and she--poor Jane--floundering in
the depths of the Red Sea. O for a Moses, with divine commission, to
stretch out the rod of understanding love, making a safe way through;
so that together they might reach the Promised Land! Dear wise old Boy,
dare you undertake the role of Moses!

But here am I writing like a page of Baedeker, and failing to report on
actual facts.

As you may suppose, Jane grows haggard and thin in spite of old
Margery's porridge--which is "put on" every day after lunch, for the
next morning's breakfast, and anybody passing "gi