The long succession of hours passed in the fresh air left them
both with the same sense of fatigue. Again that night Magdalen slept the
deep dreamless sleep of the night before. And so the Friday closed.
Her last thought at night had been the thought which had sustained her
throughout the day. She had laid her head on the pillow with the same
reckless resolution to submit to the coming trial which had already
expressed itself in words when she and Mrs. Wragge met by accident on
the stairs. When she woke on the morning of Saturday, the resolution was
gone. The Friday's thoughts--the Friday's events even--were blotted out
of her mind. Once again, creeping chill through the flow of her young
blood, she felt the slow and deadly prompting of despair which had come
to her in the waning moonlight, which had whispered to her in the awful
calm.
"I saw the end as the end must be," she said to herself, "on Thursday
night. I have been wrong ever since."
When she and her companion met that morning, she reiterated her
complaint of suffering from the toothache; she repeated her refusal
to allow Mrs. Wragge to procure a remedy; she left the house after
breakfast, in the direction of the chemist's shop, exactly as she had
left it on the morning before.
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