But it little mattered, his reason went on
to declare, what he had suspected or what he might now feel about it;
his present business was to leave Blanquais-les-Galets at sunrise the
next morning and never rest his eyes upon Angela Vivian again. This was
his duty; it had the merit of being perfectly plain and definite, easily
apprehended, and unattended, as far as he could discover, with the
smallest material difficulties. Not only this, reason continued to
remark; but the moral difficulties were equally inconsiderable. He had
never breathed a word of his passion to Miss Vivian--quite the contrary;
he had never committed himself nor given her the smallest reason to
suspect his hidden flame; and he was therefore perfectly free to turn
his back upon her--he could never incur the reproach of trifling
with her affections. Bernard was in that state of mind when it is the
greatest of blessings to be saved the distress of choice--to see a
straight path before you and to feel that you have only to follow it.
Upon the straight path I have indicated, he fixed his eyes very hard; of
course he would take his departure at the earliest possible hour on the
morrow. There was a streak of morning in the eastern sky by the time he
knocked for re-admittance at the door of the inn, which was opened to
him by a mysterious old woman in a nightcap and meagre accessories,
whose identity he failed to ascertain; and he laid himself down to
rest--he was very tired--with his attention fastened, as I say, on the
idea--on the very image--of departure.
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