She was not acting the shiver of her frame.

To-morrow was open to him, and prospect of better fortune, so he departed, after squeezing the hand she ceremoniously extended.

But her woman’s intuition warned her that she had not maintained the sovereign impression which was her security.  And hope had become a flame in her bosom that would no longer take the common extinguisher.  The race she ran was with a shrouded figure no more, but with the figure of the shroud; she had to summon paroxysms of a pity hard to feel, images of sickness, helplessness, the vaults, the last human silence for the stilling of her passionate heart.  And when this was partly effected, the question, Am I going to live? renewed her tragical struggle.  Who was it under the vaults, in the shroud, between the planks? and with human sensibility to swell the horror!  Passion whispered of a vaster sorrow needed for herself; and the hope conjuring those frightful complexities was needed to soothe her.  She pitied the man, but she was an enamoured woman.  Often of late she had been sharply stung, relaxed as well, by the observations of Danvers assisting at her toilette.  Had she beauty and charm, beauty and rich health in the young summer blooming of her days? —­and all doomed to waste?  No insurgency of words arose in denunciation of the wrong done to her nature.  An undefined heavy feeling of wrong there was, just perceptive enough to let her know, without gravely shaming, that one or another must be slain for peace to come; for it is the case in which the world of the Laws overloading her is pitiless to women, deaf past ear-trumpets, past intercession; detesting and reviling them for a feeble human cry, and for one apparent step of revolt piling the pelted stones on them.  It will not discriminate shades of hue, it massacres all the shadowed.  They are honoured, after a fashion, at a certain elevation.  Descending from it, and purely to breathe common air (thus in her mind), they are scourged and outcast.  And alas! the very pleading for them excites a sort of ridicule in their advocate.  How?  She was utterly, even desperately, nay personally, earnest, and her humour closed her lips; though comical views of the scourged and outcast coming from the opposite party—­the huge bully world—­she would not have tolerated.  Diana raged at a prevailing strength on the part of that huge bully world, which seemed really to embrace the atmosphere.  Emma had said:  ’The rules of Christian Society are a blessed Government for us women.  We owe it so much that there is not a brick of the fabric we should not prop.’  Emma’s talk of obedience to the Laws, being Laws, was repeated by the rebel, with an involuntary unphrased comparison of the vessel in dock and the vessel at sea.

When Dacier next called to see Mrs. Warwick, he heard that she had gone to Copsley for a couple of weeks.  The lesson was emphasized by her not writing:—­and was it the tricky sex, or the splendid character of the woman, which dealt him this punishment?  Knowing how much Diana forfeited for him, he was moved to some enthusiasm, despite his inclination to be hurt.