The blood of Sabina Dinnett was poisoned through an ordeal of her life when it should have run at its purest and sweetest.  That the man who had promised to marry her, had exhausted the vocabulary of love for her, should thus cast her off, struck her into a frantic calenture which, for a season, threatened her existence.  The surprise of his decision was not absolute and utter, otherwise such a shock might indeed have killed her; but there lacked not many previous signs to show that Raymond Ironsyde had strayed from his old enthusiasm and found the approach of marriage finally quench love.  The wronged girl could look back and see a thousand such warnings, while she remembered also a dark dread in her heart as to what might possibly overtake her on the death of Daniel.  True the shadow had lasted but a moment; she banished it, as unworthy, and preferred to dwell on the increased happiness and prosperity that must accrue to Raymond; but the passing fear had touched her first, and she could look back now and mark how deeply doubt tinctured all her waking hours since the necessity arose for Raymond to wed.

For a few days she raged and was only comforted with difficulty.  Mr. Churchouse and Jenny Ironsyde both visited Sabina and bade her control herself and keep calm, lest worst things should happen to her.  Ernest was still sanguine that the young man would regret his suggestions; but Jenny quenched this hope.

“It is all of a piece,” she said, “and, looking back, I see it.  His instinct and will are against any such binding thing as marriage.  He wants to make her happy; but if to do so is to make himself miserable, then she must go unhappy.  Some bad girls might accept his offer; but Sabina, of course, cannot.  She is not made of the stuff to sink to this, and it was only because he always insisted on the vital need for her to complete his life, that she forgot her wisdom in the past and believed they were really the complement of each other.  As if a woman ever was, or ever will be, the real complement of a man, or a man, the complement of a woman!  They are only complementary as meat and drink to the hungry.”

After some days Sabina read Raymond’s letter again and it now awoke a new passion.  At first she had hated herself and talked of doing herself an injury; but this was hysteria bred of suffering, since she had not the temperament to commit self-destruction.  Now her rage burned against the child that she was doomed to bring into the world, and she brooded secretly on how its end might be accomplished.  She knew the peril to herself of any such attempt; but while she could not have committed suicide, she faced the thought of the necessary risks.  If the child lived, the hateful link must exist forever, if it perished, she would be free.  So she argued.