She hated her all the more bitterly because she felt afraid to kill her, and knew that she must conquer her fear before she could do it.

She hated her most savagely because, but for her, Bosio Macomer would still have been alive.

As though she had been herself about to die, the great pictures of her own past rose in fierce colours, and faced her with vivid life in the very midst of death.

And with them came the clear echo of that bell-like voice she had heard speaking message for message between her and the man she had lost.
Her soul was not in the balance, for the die was cast and the deed was to be done.

But she suffered then, as though she had still been free to choose.