“I have no more doubts, and take shame to myself for those I ever entertained.  Presently I will confess to him how my mind was tossed and troubled on that flight from Capri; I now feel able to do so, and to make of the confession one more delight.  It was impossible for me not to be haunted by the fear that I had yielded to impulse, and acted unworthily of one who could reflect.  I had not a doubt of my lover, but the foolish pride which is in a girl’s heart whispered to me that I had been too eager—­had allowed myself to be won too readily; that I should have been more precious to him if more difficulty had been put in his way.  Would it not have been good to give him proof of constancy through long months of waiting?  But the secret was that I dreaded to lose him.  I reproached him for want of faith in my steadfastness; but just as well he might have reproached me.  It was horrible to think of his going back into the world and living among people of whom I knew nothing.  I knew in some degree what his life had been; by force of passionate love I understood, or thought I understood him; and I feared most ignobly.

“And I was putting myself in opposition to all those older and more experienced people.  How could I help distrusting myself at times?  I saw them all looking coldly and reproachfully at me.  Here again my pride had something to say.  They would smile among themselves, and tell each other that they had held a mistakenly high opinion of me.  That was hard to bear.  I like to be thought much of; it is delicious to feel that people respect me, that they apply other judgments to me than to girls in general.  Mr. Mallard hurt me more than he thought in pretending—­I feel sure he only pretended—­to regard my words as trivial.  How it rejoices me that there are some things I know better than my husband does!  I have read of women liking to humble themselves, and in a way I can understand it; I do like to say that he is far above me—­oh! and I mean it, I believe it; but the joy of joys is to see him look at me with admiration.  I rejoice that I have beauty; I rejoice that I have read much, and can think for myself now and then, and sometimes say a thing ’that every one would not think of.  Suppose I were an uneducated girl, not particularly good-looking, and a man loved me; well, in that case perhaps the one joy would be mere worship of him and intense gratitude—­blind belief in his superiority to every other man that lived.  But then Reuben would never have loved me; he must have something to admire, to stand a little in awe of.  And for this very reason, perhaps I feel such constant—­self-esteem, for that is the only word.”. . .

“All the doubts and fears are over.  I acted rightly, and because I obeyed my passion.  The poets are right, and all the prudent people only grovel in their worldly wisdom.  It may not be true for every one, but for me to love and be loved, infinitely, with the love that conquers everything, is the sole end of life.  It is enough; come what will, if love remain nothing else is missed.  In the direst poverty, we should be as much to each other as we are now.  If he died, I would live only to remember the days I passed with him.  What folly, what a crime, it would have been to waste two years, as though we were immortal!