Oh, she had not spared herself, she had again won him back from the grave, and he seemed, more than ever, a part of her very self. She lay there now upon her bed, more wretched than she had ever been, thinking of all this; remembering with a thrill, how, when he had slept, she had watched his dear face by the hour, stealthily kissing his hair, his hand, even the pillow on which he lay, but believing that, when he should get well, she could go away and leave him, never hoping, never expecting, any return. But she knew that, through all, there had been a faint hope in her heart that something would occur to reunite them, and he would love her again as he had seemed to do during those few happy days in New York, just before his departure for Europe. Even after Madame Winthrop had told her that he was betrothed to Miss Rochester, she had half believed that he meant her when he called for his “darling.” Now all these fond hopes were at an end, for she believed she had heard with her own ears his passionate declaration of love for another—had seen him clasp another to his heart, even as he had clasped her on that last morning in New York, and that other Sarah Rochester. What irony of fate, indeed, as the girl herself had once mockingly remarked. How could she endure it? For hours she lay there and fought with her rebellious heart, and against the doom which seemed to lie before him. How could she bear to give him up to one whom she knew to be false to the very core of her being? He was still noble and true, in spite of the fact that he had been influenced to do her a great wrong, and she knew that his whole future would be ruined if he should marry such a scheming, ambitious, unprincipled woman. She could prevent it, she knew, by the utterance of a single sentence; for Truman Winthrop would never knowingly wed a woman so depraved as Sarah Rochester to gain a thousand fortunes. Should she tell him? should she try to save him from such a fate, even though she might never hope to regain his love for herself? Should she take vengeance upon those two women for the injuries of the past by thus blasting all their hopes for the future? Ah, no; desperate as she was, heart-broken, weary of life, she would never be actuated by a feeling of revenge; she would prefer to suffer on in silence, as she had suffered for so long, rather than lower herself in her own esteem, or violate her conscience and the commands of the Master, whom she tried to serve, by thus claiming “an eye for an eye, or a tooth for a tooth.” Besides, if Truman Winthrop loved the girl as madly as he appeared to love her, why should she undeceive him as to her character? He would perhaps hate her for it, and she would gain nothing by it. When the sun had set and the day was drawing to a close, her battle was fought, her victory won, and she lay quiet and peaceful, but weak and so weary from the strife that she would gladly have laid down the burden of life then and there.