“Better for one to suffer than for three,” she muttered to herself. “The die is cast. I am My Lady still. I would my heart could melt away like this dull lead, and weigh me down no more, and with this last relic of the past, that every thought of it might likewise perish. It can never he, I know. While this my life still holds--a life of lies, a whited sepulchre--this sting will never lose its venom--never, never!--Shade of the dead,” cried she with vehemence, turning toward the old church-tower, which stood up black against the rising moon, “I charge you, witness what I do for you and yours! Here, in this flame, I sacrifice not only this poor token, but the man that was my husband; nay, who _is_, the man that I once loved, nay, whom I love now; the man that laid his life down for my sake, with those two words, just 'Farewell, Lucy.' Great Heaven, is not this enough? Surely, now all will go well--save for him and me. Is this too much to ask?... Forgive, forgive: I know not what I said. Teach me to be humble, patient under every blow, and no more vain regrets. I must act at once. What did Arthur say? 'The matter lay in my own hands,' said he, whether this man should stay at Mirk or not. How little did he know with what truth he spoke! And I must speak to Mary without delay, for that I alone could stop her marriage with this man. How true again? Well, I will do it.” Then my Lady washed her swollen eyes, and smoothed her hair, all tangled and escaped from its sober bonds, unturned the door-key, and having rung her bell, awaited with the lamp so placed that it threw her face in shadow, the coming of her waiting-maid. END OF VOL. I. End of Project Gutenberg's Mirk Abbey, Volume 1(of 3), by James Payn