The whole ground under Thomas's feet was honey-combed and filled with
combustible matter. A spark dropped from any, even a loving hand, might
send everything in the air. It needed not an enemy to do it.
Lucy Burton had been enjoying a delightful season of repose by the
sea-side. She had just enough to do with and for the two children to
gain healthy distraction to her thinking. But her thinking as well as
her bodily condition grew healthier every day that she breathed the
sea air. She saw more and more clearly than ever that things must not
go on between her and Thomas as they were now going on. The very scent
of the sea that came in at her bed-room window when she opened it in
the morning, protested against it; the wind said it was no longer
endurable; and the clear, blue autumn sky said it was a shame for his
sake, if not for her own. She must not do evil that good might come;
she must not allow Thomas to go on thus for the sake even of keeping
a hold of him for his good. She would give him one chance more, an
if he did not accept it, she would not see him again, let come of it
what would. In better mood still, she would say, "Let God take care of
that for him and me." She had not written to him since she came: that
was one thing she could avoid. Now, she resolved that she would write
to him just before her return, and tell him that the first thing she
would say to him when she saw him would be--had he told his father? and
upon his answer depended their future. But then the question arose,
what address she was to put upon the letter; for she was not willing
to write either to his home or to the counting-house for evident
reasons. Nor had she come to any conclusion, and had indeed resolved
to encounter him once more without having written, when from something
rather incoherently expressed in her grandmother's last letter, which
indeed referred to an expected absence of Mr. Stopper, who was now the
old lady's main support, she concluded, hastily, I allow, that Mr.
Worboise was from home, and that she might without danger direct a
letter to Highbury.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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