This uncertainty it was, no doubt, which kept up an excitement in her, not painful except by moments, a strange quickening of life, which made the period of her temptation feel like a new era in her existence. She was not unhappy, neither did she feel guilty, but only excited, possessed by a secret spring of eagerness and intentness which made all life more energetic and vital. This, as I have said, was almost more pleasurable than painful, but in one way she paid the penalty. The new thing became her master-thought; she could not get rid of it for a moment. Whatever she was doing, whatever thinking of, this came constantly uppermost. It looked her in the face, so to speak, the first thing in the morning, and never left her but reluctantly when she went to sleep at the close of the day, mingling broken visions of itself even with her dreams, and often waking her up with a start in the dead of night. It haunted her like a ghost; and though it was not accompanied by any sense of remorse, her constant consciousness of its presence gradually had an effect upon her life. Her face grew anxious; she moved less steadily than of old; she almost gave up her knitting and such meditative occupations, and took to reading desperately when she was not immersed in business--all to escape from the thing by her side, though it was not in itself painful. Thus gradually, insidiously, subtly, the evil took possession of her life. As for Farrel-Austin, his temper and general sensibility were impaired by Miss Susan’s intimation to an incalculable degree. There was no living with him, all his family said. He too awaited the decision of Providence, yet in anything but a pious way; and poor Mrs. Farrel-Austin had much to bear which no one heard of. “Feel poorly. What is the good of your feeling poorly,” he would say to her with whimsical brutality. “Any other woman but you would have seen what was required of her. Why, even that creature at Bruges--that widow! It is what women were made for; and there isn’t a laborer’s wife in the parish but is up to as much as that.” “Oh, Farrel, how can you be so unkind?” the poor woman would say. “But if I had a little girl you would be quite as angry, and that could not be my fault.” “Have a girl if you dare!” said the furious heir-presumptive. And thus he awaited the decision of Providence--more innocently, but in a much less becoming way, than Miss Susan did. It was not a thing that was publicly spoken of, neither was the world in general aware what was the new question which had arisen between the two houses, but its effects were infinitely less felt in Whiteladies than in the internal comfort of the Hatch.