Not only did
her body pine, but her nerves were exasperated. Sudden twitches came
over her, that almost made her scream. Her permanent state was utter
despondency, but across it came fitful flashes of irritation; and then
she was scarce mistress of herself.
Wherefore you, who find some holy woman cross and bitter, stop a moment
before you sum her up vixen and her religion naught: inquire the history
of her heart: perhaps beneath the smooth cold surface of duties well
discharged, her life has been, or even is, a battle against some
self-indulgence the insignificant saint's very blood cries out for: and
so the poor thing is cross, not because she is bad, but because she is
better than the rest of us; yet only human.
Now though Josephine was more on her guard with the baroness than with
Rose, or the doctor, or Jacintha, her state could not altogether escape
the vigilance of a mother's eye.
But the baroness had not the clew we have; and what a difference that
makes! How small an understanding, put by accident or instruction on the
right track, shall run the game down! How great a sagacity shall wander
if it gets on a false scent!
"Doctor," said the baroness one day, "you are so taken up with your
patient you neglect the rest of us.
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