The happy day of Lord Dannisburgh's visit settled in Emma's belief as the
cause of Mr. Warwick's unpardonable suspicions and cruelty. Arguing from
her own sensations of a day that had been like the return of sweet health
to her frame, she could see nothing but the loveliest freakish innocence
in Diana's conduct, and she recalled her looks, her words, every fleeting
gesture, even to the ingenuousness of the noble statesman's admiration of
her, for the confusion of her unmanly and unworthy husband. And Emma was
nevertheless a thoughtful person; only her heart was at the head of her
thoughts, and led the file, whose reasoning was accurate on erratic
tracks. All night her heart went at fever pace. She brought the
repentant husband to his knees, and then doubted, strongly doubted,
whether she would, whether in consideration for her friend she could,
intercede with Diana to forgive him. In the morning she slept heavily.
Sir Lukin had gone to London early for further tidings. She awoke about
midday, and found a letter on her pillow. It was Diana's. Then while
her fingers eagerly tore it open, her heart, the champion rider over-
night, sank. It needed support of facts, and feared them: not in
distrust of that dear persecuted soul, but because the very bravest of
hearts is of its nature a shivering defender, sensitive in the presence
of any hostile array, much craving for material support, until the mind
and spirit displace it, depute it to second them instead of leading.

She read by a dull November fog-light a mixture of the dreadful and the
comforting, and dwelt upon the latter in abandonment, hugged it, though
conscious of evil and the little that there was to veritably console.

The close of the letter struck the blow. After bluntly stating that Mr.
Warwick had served her with a process, and that he had no case without
suborning witnesses, Diana said: 'But I leave the case, and him, to the
world. Ireland, or else America, it is a guiltless kind of suicide to