THE TIME BETWEEN.
I now felt quite able to confess to my uncle both what I had thought and
what I had done. True, I had much more to confess than when my trouble
first awoke; but the growth in the matter of the confession had been such
a growth in definiteness as well, as to make its utterance, though more
weighty, yet much easier. If I might be in doubt about revealing my
thoughts, I could be in none about revealing my actions; and I found it
was much less appalling to make known my feelings, when I had the words
of John Day to confess as well.
I may here be allowed to remark, how much easier an action is when
demanded, than it seems while in the contingent future--how much
easier when the thing is before you in its reality, and not as a mere
thought-spectre. The thing itself, and the idea of it, are two such
different grounds upon which to come either to a decision or to action!
One thing more: when a woman wants to do the right--I do not mean, wants
to coax the right to side with her--she will, somehow, be led up to it.
My uncle was very feverish and troubled the first night, and had a good
deal of delirium, during which his care and anxiety seemed all about me.
Martha had to assure him every other moment that I was well, and in no
danger of any sort: he would be silent for a time, and then again show
himself tormented with forebodings about me.
Pages:
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104