"A toy," she said to herself, "a work of art which we enjoy, is placed in security when danger threatens the house; the axe and the bread, the sword and the talisman that protects us, in short whatever we cannot dispense with while we live, we do not release from our hands till death comes.

She was not necessary, indispensable to him.

If she had obeyed his wish and left him, then--yes, then--" Here the current of her thoughts was checked, for the first time she asked herself the question: "Would he have really missed your helping hand, your cheering word ?" She turned restlessly, and her heart throbbed anxiously, as she told herself that she had done little to smooth his rugged pathway.

The vague feeling, that he had not been entirely to blame, if she had not found perfect happiness by his side, alarmed her.

Did not her former conduct justify him in expecting hindrance rather than support and help in impending days of severest peril?
Filled with deep longing to obtain a clear view of her own heart, she raised herself on her pillows and reviewed her whole former life.
Her mother had been a Catholic in her youth, and had often told her how free and light-hearted she had felt, when she confided everything that can trouble a woman's heart to a silent third person, and received from the lips of God's servant the assurance that she might now begin a new life, secure of forgiveness.