Yes, Joanna," she continued, apostrophizing the picture, "I'm
compelled to confess that you are right; for, being in hell, it is idle
to deny its existence."
She placed the lamp once more upon the table, yet did not seat herself
beside it, but walked hastily up and down the room. "To be young no
more, to be poor and powerless, to have no hope in this world nor belief
in a better, to have lost even belief in one's self--is not that to be
in Gehenna? I am punished for my sins, men say. Hypocrites! liars! Why
is _he_ not punished? Why is he proud, and strong, and prosperous? Sins?
If Judgment-day should come to-morrow, my soul would be as pure as snow
beside that man's! ay, and beside most men's! Joanna here knew _that_--I
suppose by inspiration; for how else should she? What's that?"
Amidst the pelting of the rain, which had increased within the last few
hours rather than diminished, the pulling of the house-bell could be
heard. Mrs. Yorke drew forth her watch--a jeweled trinket of exquisite
beauty, one of the few relics of her palmy time. "Past midnight," she
murmured, "and all the lodgers are within. Who can it be?"
The bell pealed forth again.
She went into the hall, where the gas was burning, and unlocked the
door. At the same time somebody flung himself violently against it, but
the chain was up.
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