“I could tell you of still more trying scenes than that, Sally.  I know far more than you.  But if I knew ten times as much, I should still believe that my plan is the only one.  Of course I may fail.  It is all in God’s hands.  We none of us know how much discipline we need.  But I know one thing:  if I do not regain John in this way, I cannot in any.  If I stay I shall annoy, vex, disturb, torture him!  Once the barriers of my silence and concealment are broken down, I shall do just what all other jealous women have done since the world began.  There are no torments on earth like those which a jealous woman inflicts, except those which she bears!  I will die sooner than inflict them on John.  Even if the result proves me mistaken, I shall never regret my course, for I know that the worst is certain if I remain.  But I have absolute faith,”—­and her face was transfigured with it as she spoke,—­“John is mine.  If I could stay by his side through it all and preserve the same relation with him which I have all winter, all would sooner or later be well.  I wish I were strong enough.  My heart is, but my body is not, and I must go.”

When she told me the details of her plan, I was more astounded than ever.  She had taken Dr. Willis into her full confidence. (He had been to us father and physician both ever since our father’s death.) He entirely approved of her course.  He was to say—­which indeed he could do conscientiously—­that her health imperatively required an entire change of climate, and that he had advised her to spend at least one year abroad.  It had always been one of John’s and Ellen’s air-castles to take all the children to England and to Germany for some years of study.  She proposed to take the youngest four, leaving the eldest girl, who was her father’s especial pet and companion, to stay with him.  A maiden aunt of ours was to come and keep the house, and I was to stay with the family.  This was the hardest of all.

“Ellen, I cannot!” I exclaimed.  “Do not—­oh, do not trust me.  I shall never have strength.  I shall betray all some day and ruin all your hopes.”

“You cannot, you dare not, Sally, when I tell you that my life’s whole happiness lies in your silence.  John is unobservant and also unsuspicious.  He has never had an intimate relation with you.  You will have no difficulty.  But you must be here,—­because, dear, there is another reason,” and here her voice grew very unsteady, and tears ran down her cheeks.

“In spite of all my faith, I do not disguise from myself the possibility of the worst.  I cannot believe my husband would ever do a dishonorable thing.  I do not believe that Emma Long would.  And yet, when I remember what ruin, has overtaken many men and women whom we believed upright, I dare not be wholly sure.  And I must know that some one is here who would see and understand if a time were approaching at which it would be needful for me to make one last effort with and for my husband face to face with him.