At first her woman's nature had risen in rebellion against the thought.

Why should she throw her life away?
She had as good a right to this man as Bessie, and she knew that by the strength of her own hand she could hold him against Bessie in all her beauty, however far things had gone between them; and she believed, as a jealous woman is prone to do, that they had gone much farther than was the case.
But by-and-by, as she pursued that weary march, her better self rose up, and mastered the promptings of her heart.

Bessie loved him, and Bessie was weaker than she, and less suited to bear pain, and she had sworn to her dying mother--for Bessie had been her mother's darling--to promote her happiness, and, come what would, to comfort and protect her by every means in her power.

It was a wide oath, and she was only a child when she took it, but it bound her conscience none the less, and surely it covered this.

Besides, she dearly loved her--far, far more than she loved herself.