But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. “You did good!” She closed her eyes and rested in the moment, imagining a normal life where she would go to college, have babies with John, watch her children have children, live, and die as she had always wanted to.
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