greater part of the winter went by before she had again to submit to a
tête-à-tête with the Rev. Bruno. It was seldom that she thought of him save when
compelled to do so by his exacting presence, but in the meantime he exercised no
small influence on her mental life. Insensibly she was confirmed in her
alienation from all accepted forms of religious faith. Whether she wished it or
not, it was inevitable that such a process should keep her constantly in mind of
Godwin Peak. Her desire to talk with him at times became so like passion that
she appeared to herself to love him more truly than ever. Yet such a mood was
always followed by doubt, and she could not say whether the reaction distressed
or soothed her. These months that had gone by brought one result, not to be
disguised. Whatever the true nature of her feeling for Godwin, the thought of
marrying him was so difficult to face that it seemed to involve impossibilities.
He himself had warned her that marriage would mean severance from all her
kindred. It was practically true, and time would only increase the difficulty of
such a determination.
    The very fact that her love (again, if love it were) must be indulged in
defiance of universal opinion tended to keep emotion alive. A woman is disposed
to cling to a lover who has disgraced himself, especially if she can believe
that the disgrace was incurred as a result of devotion to her. Could love be
separated from thought of marriage, Sidwell would have encouraged herself in
fidelity, happy in the prospect of a life-long spiritual communion - for she
would not doubt of Godwin's upward progress, of his eventual purification. But
this was a mere dream. If Godwin's passion were steadfast, the day would come
when she must decide either to cast in her lot with his, or to bid him be free.
And could she imagine herself going forth into exile?
    There came a letter from him, and she was fortunate enough to receive it
without the knowledge of her relatives. He wrote that he had obtained
employment. The news gave her a troubled joy, lasting for several days. That no
emotion appeared in her reply was due to a fear lest she might be guilty of
misleading him. Perhaps already she had done so. Her last whisper - »Some day!«
- was it not a promise and an appeal? Now she had not the excuse of profound
agitation, there must be no word her conscience could not justify. But in
writing those formal lines she felt herself a coward. She was