"What am I to do with myself all the morning? I can't go out, it's raining. If I open the piano, I shall disturb the industrious journalist who is scribbling in the next room. Oh, dear, it was lonely enough in my lodging in Thorpe Ambrose, but how much lonelier it is here! Shall I read? No; books don't interest me; I hate the whole tribe of authors. I think I shall look back through these pages, and live my life over again when Iwas plotting and planning, and finding a new excitement to occupy me in every new hour of the day.
"He might have looked at me, though he _was_ so busy with his writing.--He might have said, 'How nicely you are dressed this morning!' He might have remembered--never mind what! All he remembers is the newspaper.
"Twelve o'clock.--I have been reading and thinking; and, thanks to my Diary, I have got through an hour.
"What a time it was--what a life it was, at Thorpe Ambrose! Iwonder I kept my senses. It makes my heart beat, it makes my face flush, only to read about it now!
"The rain still falls, and the journalist still scribbles. Idon't want to think the thoughts of that past time over again.
And yet, what else can I do?
"Supposing--I only say supposing--I felt now, as I felt when Itraveled to London with Armadale; and when I saw my way to his life as plainly as I saw the man himself all through the journey.
. . . ?
"I'll go and look out of the window. I'll go and count the people as they pass by.
"A funeral has gone by, with the penitents in their black hoods, and the wax torches sputtering in the wet, and the little bell ringing, and the priests droning their monotonous chant. Apleasant sight to meet me at the window! I shall go back to my Diary.
"Supposing I was not the altered woman I am--I only say, supposing--how would the Grand Risk that I once thought of running look now? I have married Midwinter in the name that is really his own. And by doing that I have taken the first of those three steps which were once to lead me, through Armadale's life, to the fortune and the station of Armadale's widow. No matter how innocent my intentions might have been on the wedding-day--and they _were_ innocent--this is one of the unalterable results of the marriage. Well, having taken the first step, then, whether Iwould or no, how--supposing I meant to take the second step, which I don't--how would present circumstances stand toward me?
Would they warn me to draw back, I wonder? or would they encourage me to go on?
"It will interest me to calculate the chances; and I can easily tear the leaf out, and destroy it, if the prospect looks too encouraging.
"We are living here (for economy's sake) far away from the expensive English quarter, in a suburb of the city, on the Portici side. We have made no traveling acquaintances among our own country people. Our poverty is against us; Midwinter's shyness is against us; and (with the women) my personal appearance is against us. The men from whom my husband gets his information for the newspaper meet him at the cafe, and never come here. I discourage his bringing any strangers to see me;for, though years have passed since I was last at Naples, Icannot be sure that some of the many people I once knew in this place may not be living still. The moral of all this is (as the children's storybooks say), that not a single witness has come to this house who could declare, if any after-inquiry took place in England, that Midwinter and I had been living here as man and wife. So much for present circumstances as they affect Me.
"Armadale next. Has any unforeseen accident led him to communicate with Thorpe Ambrose? Has he broken the conditions which the major imposed on him, and asserted himself in the character of Miss Milroy's promised husband since I saw him last?
"Nothing of the sort has taken place. No unforeseen accident has altered his position--his tempting position--toward myself. Iknow all that has happened to him since he left England, through the letters which he writes to Midwinter, and which Midwinter shows to me.
"He has been wrecked, to begin with. His trumpery little yacht has actually tried to drown him, after all, and has failed! It happened (as Midwinter warned him it might happen with so small a vessel) in a sudden storm. They were blown ashore on the coast of Portugal. The yacht went to pieces, but the lives, and papers, and so on, were saved. The men have been sent back to Bristol, with recommendations from their master which have already got them employment on board an outward-bound ship. And the master himself is on his way here, after stopping first at Lisbon, and next at Gibraltar, and trying ineffectually in both places to supply himself with another vessel. His third attempt is to be made at Naples, where there is an English yacht 'laid up,' as they call it, to be had for sale or hire. He has had no occasion to write home since the wreck; for he took away from Coutts's the whole of the large sum of money lodged there for him, in circular notes. And he has felt no inclination to go back to England himself; for, with Mr. Brock dead, Miss Milroy at school, and Midwinter here, he has not a living creature in whom he is interested to welcome him if he returned. To see us, and to see the new yacht, are the only two present objects he has in view.
Midwinter has been expecting him for a week past, and he may walk into this very room in which I am writing, at this very moment, for all I know to the contrary.
"Tempting circumstances, these--with all the wrongs I have suffered at his mother's hands and at his, still alive in my memory; with Miss Milroy confidently waiting to take her place at the head of his household; with my dream of living happy and innocent in Midwinter's love dispelled forever, and with nothing left in its place to help me against myself. I wish it wasn't raining; I wish I could go out.
"Perhaps something may happen to prevent Armadale from coming to Naples? When he last wrote, he was waiting at Gibraltar for an English steamer in the Mediterranean trade to bring him on here.