whenheaskedhertolethimstay,shehadwilfullylostthehappinessthatwaswithinherreach:andthen,witharevulsionoffeeling,sherepeatedthathewasworthless.Thedrearyhourspassed,andwhennightcameBerthascarcelyhadstrengthtoundressandnottillthemorningdidshegetrest.ButtheearlypostbroughtaletterfromEdward,repeatinghiswishthatsheshouldreturntoCourtLeys.Shereaditlistlessly.
“Perhapsit’sthebestthingtodo,”shegroaned.
ShehatedLondonnowandtheflattheroomsmustbehorriblybarewithoutthejoyouspresenceofGerald.ToreturntoCourtLeysseemedtheonlycourselefttoher,andthereatleastshewouldhavequietandsolitude.Shethoughtalmostwithlongingofthedesolateshore,themarshesandthedrearyseashewantedrestandsilence.Butifshewent,shehadbettergoatoncetostayinLondonwasonlytoprolongherwoe.
Bertharose,anddressed,andwenttoMissLeyherfacewasdeathlypale,andhereyesheavyandredwithweeping.Inexhaustionshemadenoattempttohidehercondition.
“I’mgoingdowntoCourtLeysto-day,AuntPolly.Ithinkit’sthebestthingIcando.”
“Edwardwillbeverypleasedtoseeyou.”
“Ithinkhewill.”
MissLeyhesitated,lookingatBertha.
“Youknow,Bertha,”shesaid,afterapause,“inthisworldit’sverydifficulttoknowwhattodo.Onestrugglestoknowgoodfromevil—butreallythey’reoftensoverymuchalike....Ialwaysthinkthosepeoplefortunatewhoarecontenttostand,withoutquestion,bythetencommandments,knowingexactlyhowtoconductthemselves,andproppedupbythehopeofParadiseontheonehand,andbythefearofacloven-footeddevilwithpincers,ontheother....ButwewhoanswerWhytothecrudeThouShaltNot,arelikesailorsonawintryseawithoutacompass.Reasonandinstinctsayonething,andconventionsaysanother.Buttheworstofitisthatone’sconsciencehasbeenrearedontheDecalogue,andfosteredonhell-fire—andone’sconsciencehasthelastword.Idaresayit’scowardly,butit’scertainlydiscreet,totakeitintoconsideration.It’slikelobstersaladit’snotac