CHAPTER X.
Josephine wrestled long and terribly with nature in that old oak-tree.
But who can so struggle forever?
Anguish, remorse, horror, despair, and love wrenched her to and fro; and O mysterious human heart! gleams of a mad fitful joy shot through her, coming quick as lightning, going as quickly, and leaving the despair darker.

And then the fierce struggle of the soul to make itself heard! More than once she had to close her mouth with her hand: more than once she seized her throat not to cry out.

But as the struggle endured, she got weaker and weaker, and nature mightier and mightier.

And when the wounded hero fell on his knees so close to her; when he who had resisted death so bravely for her, prepared to give up life calmly for her, her bosom rose beyond all control: it seemed to fill to choking, then to split wide open and give the struggling soul passage in one gasping sob and heart-stricken cry.

Could she have pent this in she must have died.
It betrayed her.