orefoundnocomfort.SheaccompaniedMissGloveronherdistrictvisiting,butshedislikedthepoor,andtheirchatterseemedhopelesslyinane.Theennuimadeherheadache,andsheputherhandtohertemples,pressingthempainfullyshefeltshecouldtakegreatwispsofherhairandtearitout.
Shethrewherselfonherbedandweptintheagonyofboredom.Edwardoncefoundherthus,andaskedwhatwasthematter.
“Oh,myheadaches,sothatIfeelIcouldkillmyself.”
HesentforRamsay,butBerthaknewthedoctor’sremedieswereabsurdanduseless.Sheimaginedthattherewasnoremedyforherill—noteventime—noremedybutdeath.
Sheknewtheterribledistressofwakinginthemorningwiththethoughtthatstillanotherdaymustbegonethroughsheknewthereliefofbed-timewiththethoughtthatshewouldenjoyafewhoursofunconsciousness.Shewasrackedwiththeimaginationofthefuture’sfrightfulmonotony:nightwouldfollowday,anddaywouldfollownight,themonthspassingonebyoneandtheyearsslowly,slowly.
Theysaythatlifeisshort.Tothosewholookbackperhapsitisbuttothosewholookforwarditislong,horriblylong—endless.SometimesBerthafeltitimpossibletoendure.Sheprayedthatshemightfallasleepatnightandneverawake.Howhappymustbethelivesofthosewhocanlookforwardtoeternity!ToBerthatheideawasmerelyghastlyshedesirednothingbutthelongrest,therestofanendlesssleep,thedissolutionintonothing.
Onceindesperationshewishedtokillherself,butwasafraid.Peoplesaythatsuiciderequiresnocourage.Fools!Theycannotrealisethehorroroftheneedfulpreparation,theanticipationofthepain,theterriblefearthatonemayregretwhenitistoolate,whenlifeisebbingaway.Andthereisthedreadoftheunknown.Andthereisthedreadofhell-fire—absurdandrevolting,yetsoengrainedthatnoeffortisableentirelytodestroyit.Notwithstandingreasonandargumentthereisstillthenumbingfearthattheghastlyfablesofourchildhoodmayafterallbetrue,thefearofajealousGodwhowilldoomHiswretchedcreaturestounendingtorture.