In the awful approach of death, one's judgment loses its balance, and we do anything to meet the exigencies of the moment, with a single eye to the one who excites our sympathy, and from whom we seem on the brink of being separated for ever.
Had he really married her at that time all would be settled now.

But he took too much thought; she might have died, and then he had his reason.
If indeed it had turned out so, I should now be perhaps a sad woman; but not a tempest-tossed one.

.

.

The possibility of his claiming me after all is what lies at the root of my agitation.