He flung out his arms; his eyes, cast upwards, called God to witness that it was too much! It was too much! Some way of escape there must be.

Heaven could not look down on, could not suffer such deeds in a Christian land.

But men and women, girls and young children had suffered these things; had appealed and called Heaven to witness, and gone to death, and Heaven had not moved, nor the angels descended! But it could not be in her case.

Some way of escape there must be.

There must be.
Why should she not leave her mother to her fate?
A fate that could not be evaded?
Why need she, whose capacity for suffering was so great, who had so much of life and love and all good things before her, remain to share the pains of one whose span in any case was nearing its end?
Of one who had no longer power--or so it seemed--to meet the smallest shock, and must succumb before she knew more of suffering than the name.
One whom a rude word might almost extinguish, and a rough push thrust out of life?
Why remain, when to remain was to sacrifice two lives in lieu of one, to give and get nothing, to die for a prejudice?
Why remain, when by remaining she could not save her mother, but, on the contrary, must inflict the sharpest pang of all, since she destroyed the being who was dearest to her mother, the being whom her mother would die to save?
He grew heated as he dwelt on it.