Was it only two days ago she had been wishing for something to occur and break up the monotony of her life, and resenting Mrs. Flint’s homilies upon her discontent?
Something had happened with a vengeance.
The love that had nestled in her heart that day, a shy, sweet new-comer, had been fanned into strong, passionate life by hurrying events that now closed round her like a grasp of steel threatening to crush out all the sweetness of life forever.
She had tasted the sweetness of loving and being loved, she who had been lonely and heart-hungry so long; but now the sweet cup of joy was dashed from her lips and bitter dregs offered in its stead.
They had parted her from her heart’s love, Arthur. With his own lips, that so lately had sworn eternal fealty to her, he had uttered the edict of their eternal separation, for no cause save that their parents cherished an old feud.
It was cruel, bitter, and Cinthia’s heart hardened with rebellion against her fate.
She longed desperately for death to end the agony of love and humiliation under which she suffered.
“Oh, if I could just slip away out of life now—this moment!” she cried, in fierce intolerance of her pain; and a lightning temptation came to her to end it all.
She began to pace restlessly up and down the room, wondering what would be the easiest way to take her own life—her life that was so unbearable now!
It would be so easy to close all the apertures for air, turn on the gas, and lie down on her bed until asphyxiation came to her relief and wrenched life out of its suffering frame.