My strength, my energy
were failing. I kept my bed, as I had never been willing to do before if
able to arise from it, until noon sometimes, for want of nervous
impulse, and my food was tasteless and innutritious, even when I forced
myself to eat a portion of what was placed regularly before me. It
seemed to me that, long ere this, Wardour Wentworth must have
ascertained my fate, and the thought that he might be passive when my
very soul was at stake, thrilled me with agony unspeakable.
This mood endured so long that even Mrs. Clayton grew alarmed. She
insisted on Dr. Englehart again, and, when I shook my head drearily for
all reply, begged that I would permit her to state my case to Mrs.
Raymond, who might in turn see some able physician about me and procure
remedies.
To this, at last, I consented.
The consequence was what I had hoped it might be: Mrs. Raymond came in
person, and I had at last the opportunity I had long desired of seeing
her alone. If thoughtless, if unrefined according to my views of good
breeding, she was still young, and vivacious, and perhaps kind-hearted;
besides this, sufficiently well pleased with herself to be generous to
one who could no longer be her rival.
Her approach was heralded by a note from Mr. Bainrothe, full of his
characteristic, guileful sophistry and cool impertinence.
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