“But not Sir Richard?”
“As to that,” said Amethyst, “in all honour I am bound to him. I have been meaning it. I can do it. And we are all bound to him. I should as good as jilt him if I threw him over now. But—if Lucian had brought my heart back to me—I would have broken through it all! Though I would have begged Sir Richard’s pardon on my knees. But there’s nothing strong enough in me to do it now.”
“Oh, my darling,” cried Una, starting up and clinging to her, “there can be! I told you how it was with me—me—that am so weak and so bad. It is quite true. I don’t understand it—at other times—I’m just my foolish self. But just now and then—as that poem you used to be fond of says—‘My strength is as the strength of ten.’ But it’s not because my heart is pure—for it’s not, it’s not—but because He is stronger than I am! The ‘Spirit of the Lord came upon me.’ I know what that means, Amethyst, though He does go quite away, quite—quite!”
Amethyst was somewhat awe-struck.
“But He doesn’t come to me, Una,” she said in a subdued voice, “and I can’t even ask Him. Because whatever I do can’t be really right, I’ve tied the knots too tight.”
“But I suppose God thinks that one way would be more right than another,” said Una.
Childish as was the form of speech, it struck an answering chord in Amethyst’s soul; but Una’s tone was so faint with weariness that she refused to go on talking, made her lie back on the pillows, and left her as soon as possible, to think the problem out for herself.
”‘My dismal scene I needs must act alone,’” she thought, as she slowly undressed herself, and lay down in bed.
She lay on her back, with her hands clasped over the top of her head, and watched the moonlight on the opposite wall. She had her fate in life to decide. At twenty years old, “half-grown as yet, a child and vain,” she had so strong a principle of growth within her, that her true self had hardly yet begun to be. She had decided. She had made up her mind, long ago, that she would marry Sir Richard Grattan. As his wife she would belong to good and honourable people; all her tastes and faculties would have full scope; a great career would be before herself, and she could always be a stand-by to her sisters. She was desirous of doing right, though she could not realise Una’s experience otherwise than as an impression on the girl’s mind. But it had not ceased to be the best thing for herself to marry Sir Richard, because she had discovered that a great impulse—a great passion, would induce her to break free from him. For no great impulse was there.
She did pray for help, though with a cold and wavering spirit, and she made up her mind to her course of action. She went down-stairs in the morning, in the full conviction that she would accept Sir Richard before the day was out Breakfast was an irregular meal, and no one was there but Tory, who attended an early French class, and was sitting with her hat on.