But, the final moment being come, when a day--half a day--would
decide it all--decide the whole future of herself and her husband,
Christian's courage seemed to return.
She sat trembling, yet not altogether hopeless; very humble and yet
strong, with the strength that the inward consciousness of deeply
loving--not of being loved, but of loving--always gives to a woman,
and waited till Dr. Grey came home.
When the parlor door opened she rushed forward, thinking it was he,
but it was only Phillis--Phillis, looking insolent, self-important,
contemptuous, as she held out to her mistress a letter.
"There! I've took it in for once, and given it to you, by yourself, as he
bade me, but I'll never take in another. I'm an honest woman, and my
master has been a good master to me."
"Phillis!" cried Mrs. Grey, astonished. But when she saw the letter she
was astonished no more.
The tinted perfumed paper, the large seal, the dainty handwriting, all
were familiar of old.
Fierce indignation, unutterable contempt, and then a writhing sense of
personal shame, as if she were somehow accountable for this insult,
swept by turns over Christian's soul, until she recollected that she must
betray nothing; for more than her own sake--her husband's--she must
not put herself in her servant's power.
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