“Suppose you go back to Dexter, out of sheer compassion for a mad and miserable wretch who has already insulted you,” proceeded my mother-in-law. “You can only go back accompanied by me, or by some other trustworthy person. You can only stay long enough to humor the creature’s wayward fancy, and to keep his crazy brain quiet for a time. That done, all is done--you leave him. Even supposing Dexter to be still capable of helping you, how can you make use of him but by admitting him to terms of confidence and familiarity--by treating him, in short, on the footing of an intimate friend? Answer me honestly: can you bring yourself to do that, after what happened at Mr. Benjamin’s house?” I had told her of my last interview with Miserrimus Dexter, in the natural confidence that she inspired in me as relative and fellow-traveler; and this was the use to which she turned her information! I suppose I had no right to blame her; I suppose the motive sanctioned everything. At any rate, I had no choice but to give offense or to give an answer. I gave it. I acknowledged that I could never again permit Miserrimus Dexter to treat me on terms of familiarity as a trusted and intimate friend. Mrs. Macallan pitilessly pressed the advantage that she had won. “Very well,” she said, “that resource being no longer open to you, what hope is left? Which way are you to turn next?” There was no meeting those questions, in my present situation, by any adequate reply. I felt strangely unlike myself--I submitted in silence. Mrs. Macallan struck the last blow that completed her victory. “My poor Eustace is weak and wayward,” she said; “but he is not an ungrateful man. My child, you have returned him good for evil--you have proved how faithfully and how devotedly you love him, by suffering all hardships and risking all dangers for his sake. Trust me, and trust him! He cannot resist you. Let him see the dear face that he has been dreaming of looking at him again with all the old love in it, and he is yours once more, my daughter--yours for life.” She rose and touched my forehead with her lips; her voice sank to tones of tenderness which I had never heard from her yet. “Say yes, Valeria,” she whispered; “and be dearer to me and dearer to him than ever!” My heart sided with her. My energies were worn out. No letter had arrived from Mr. Playmore to guide and to encourage me. I had resisted so long and so vainly; I had tried and suffered so much; I had met with such cruel disasters and such reiterated disappointments--and he was in the room beneath me, feebly finding his way back to consciousness and to life--how could I resist? It was all over. In saying Yes (if Eustace confirmed his mother’s confidence in him), I was saying adieu to the one cherished ambition, the one dear and noble hope of my life. I knew it--and I said Yes. And so good-by to the grand struggle! And so welcome to the new resignation which owned that I had failed.