Emma dropped a heavy sigh in pity of her, remotely in compassion for Redworth, the loving and unbeloved.  She was too humane and wise of our nature to chide her Tony for having her sex’s heart.  She had charity to bestow on women; in defence of them against men and the world, it was a charity armed with the weapons of battle.  The wife madly stripped before the world by a jealous husband, and left chained to the rock, her youth wasting, her blood arrested, her sensibilities chilled and assailing her under their multitudinous disguises, and for whom the world is merciless, called forth Emma’s tenderest commiseration; and that wife being Tony, and stricken with the curse of love, in other circumstances the blessing, Emma bled for her.

‘But nothing desperate?’ she said.

‘No; you have saved me.’

’I would knock at death’s doors again, and pass them, to be sure of that.’

’Kiss me; you may be sure.  I would not put my lips to your cheek if there were danger of my faltering.’

‘But you love him.’

‘I do:  and because I love him I will not let him be fettered to me.’

‘You will see him.’

’Do not imagine that his persuasions undermined your Tony.  I am subject to panics.’

‘Was it your husband?’

’I had a visit from Lady Wathin.  She knows him.  She came as peacemaker.  She managed to hint at his authority.  Then came a letter from him—­of supplication, interpenetrated with the hint:  a suffused atmosphere.  Upon that; unexpected by me, my—­let me call him so once, forgive me!—­lover came.  Oh! he loves me, or did then.  Percy!  He had been told that I should be claimed.  I felt myself the creature I am—­a wreck of marriage.  But I fancied I could serve him:—­I saw golden.  My vanity was the chief traitor.  Cowardice of course played a part.  In few things that we do, where self is concerned, will cowardice not be found.  And the hallucination colours it to seem a lovely heroism.  That was the second time Mr. Redworth arrived.  I am always at crossways, and he rescues me; on this occasion unknowingly.’

‘There’s a divinity . . .’ said Emma.  ’When I think of it I perceive that Patience is our beneficent fairy godmother, who brings us our harvest in the long result.’

‘My dear, does she bring us our labourers’ rations, to sustain us for the day?’ said Diana.’

‘Poor fare, but enough.’

‘I fear I was born godmotherless.’

’You have stores of patience, Tony; only now and then fits of desperation.’

’My nature’s frailty, the gap in it:  we will give it no fine names—­they cover our pitfalls.  I am open to be carried on a tide of unreasonableness when the coward cries out.  But I can say, dear, that after one rescue, a similar temptation is unlikely to master me.  I do not subscribe to the world’s decrees for love of the monster, though I am beginning to understand the dues of allegiance.  We have ceased to write letters.  You may have faith in me.’