The words had nestled their venomous life within her, and stirred continually the vision of the scene at the Whispering Stones. That scene was now like an accusing apparition: she dreaded that Grandcourt should know of it--so far out of her sight now was that possibility she had once satisfied herself with, of speaking to him about Mrs. Glasher and her children, and making them rich amends. Any endurance seemed easier than the mortal humiliation of confessing that she knew all before she married him, and in marrying him had broken her word. For the reasons by which she had justified herself when the marriage tempted her, and all her easy arrangement of her future power over her husband to make him do better than he might be inclined to do, were now as futile as the burned-out lights which set off a child's pageant. Her sense of being blameworthy was exaggerated by a dread both definite and vague. The definite dread was lest the veil of secrecy should fall between her and Grandcourt, and give him the right to taunt her. With the reading of that letter had begun her husband's empire of fear.

The words had nestled their venomous life within her. She dreaded that Grandcourt should know of that meeting at the Whispering Stones - so far out of her sight now was the possibility of speaking to him about Mrs. Glasher and her children, and making them rich amends. Any endurance seemed easier than the humiliation of confessing that she knew all before she married him, and in marrying him had broken her word. For the reasons by which she had justified her marriage, and her easy assumption of her future power over her husband, seemed now childish and futile. She dreaded the veil of secrecy being removed, and giving Grandcourt the right to taunt her. With the reading of that letter had begun her husband's empire of fear.
