This essay was not so repugnant to her mind or her feelings as when she first became acquainted with it.  Its bitterness no longer seemed to be directed against herself.  There was much in it with which she could have agreed at any time during the last six months, and many strokes of satire, which till the other day would have offended her, she now felt to be legitimate.  As she read on, a kind of anger such as she had never experienced trembled along her nerves.  Was it not flagrantly true that English society at large made profession of a faith which in no sense whatever it could be said sincerely to hold?  Was there not every reason to believe that thousands of people keep up an ignoble formalism, because they feared the social results of declaring their severance from the religion of the churches?  This was a monstrous evil; she had never till this moment understood the scope of its baneful effects.  But for the prevalence of such a spirit of hypocrisy, Godwin Peak would never have sinned against his honour.  Why was it not declared in trumpet-tones of authority, from end to end of the Christian world, that Christianity, as it has been understood through the ages, can no longer be accepted?  For that was the truth, the truth, the truth!

She lay back, quivering as if with terror.  For an instant her soul had been filled with hatred of the religion for which she could once have died.  It had stood before her as a power of darkness and ignorance, to be assailed, crushed, driven from the memory of man.

Last night she had hardly slept, and now, though her body was numb with weariness, her mind kept up a feverish activity.  She was bent on excusing Godwin, and the only way in which she could do so was by arraigning the world for its huge dishonesty.  In a condition between slumber and waking, she seemed to plead for him before a circle of Pharisaic accusers.  Streams of silent eloquence rushed through her brain, and the spirit which prompted her was closely akin to that of ‘The New Sophistry’.  Now and then, for a few seconds, she was smitten with a consciousness of extraordinary change in her habits of thought.  She looked about her with wide, fearful eyes, and endeavoured to see things in the familiar aspect.  As if with physical constraint her angry imagination again overcame her, until at length from the penumbra of sleep she passed into its profoundest gloom.

To wake when dawn was pale at the window.  A choking odour reminded her that she had not extinguished the lamp, which must have gone out for lack of oil.  She opened the window, took a draught of water, and addressed herself to sleep again.  But in recollecting what the new day meant for her, she had spoilt the chances of longer rest.  Her head ached; all worldly thoughts were repulsive, yet she could not dismiss them.  She tried to repeat the prayers she had known since childhood, but they were meaningless, and a sense of shame attached to their utterance.