Born of her weakness, her misery, her growing delirium, came a fierce, unreasoning rebellion; a longing to thrust upon the shoulders of Alan Warburton, who, more than any other, had been the cause of her present woe, a portion of this weight that dragged her down. Had she not suffered enough for the “Warburton honor?” Why not force him to tread with her this valley of humiliation?
Then followed other thoughts—better thoughts, humbler thoughts, but all morbid, all tinged by her half delirious fancy, all reckless of self.
And now every moment adds to her torture, increases the fever in her blood, the frenzy of her brain.
“I must end it!” she cries wildly. “I must save Daisy! And after that what matter how my day goes out?”
She walks swiftly to the door and attempts to open it. Useless; it is fastened from the outer side. She seizes the handle and shakes it fiercely. It seems an hour, it is really a moment, when Mamma unlocks the door and appears before her.
“You—”
“I have decided,” breaks in Leslie. “I shall make the sacrifice.”
“You will marry this worthy man?”
“I will save Daisy from your clutches, and his.”
“In his own way?”