"
Which done, she stamped a small, yet vicious foot upon a certain
crumpled letter, and thereafter, lying face down upon her bed, wept
hot, slow, bitter tears, stifling her sobs with the tumbled glory of
her hair, and in her heart was an agony greater than any she had
ever known.
CHAPTER LVII
BEING A PARENTHETICAL CHAPTER ON DOUBT, WHICH, THOUGH UNINTERESTING,
IS VERY SHORT
It will perhaps be expected that, owing to this unhappy state of
affairs, Barnabas should have found sleep a stranger to his pillow;
but, on the contrary, reaching London at daybreak, he went to bed,
and there, wearied by his long ride, found a blessed oblivion from
all his cares and sorrows. Nor did he wake till the day was far spent
and evening at hand. But, with returning consciousness came Memory
to harrow him afresh, came cold Pride and glowing Anger. And with
these also was yet another emotion, and one that he had never known
till now, whose name is Doubt; doubt of himself and of his
future--that deadly foe to achievement and success--that ghoul-like
incubus which, once it fastens on a man, seldom leaves him until
courage, and hope, and confidence are dead, and nothing remains but
a foreknowledge and expectation of failure.
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