I just waited long enough to be quite sure that she was in the land of dreams, then emptied the horrible laudanum bottle into the grate, took up her half-done work, and, going out softly, left her for that night.
March 6th.

Sent off a long letter to Robert, begging and entreating him not to be so down-hearted, and not to leave America without making another effort.

I told him I could bear any trial except the wretchedness of seeing him come back a helpless, broken-down man, trying uselessly to begin life again when too old for a change.
It was not till after I had posted my own letter, and read over part of Robert's again, that the suspicion suddenly floated across me, for the first time, that he might have sailed for England immediately after writing to me.

There were expressions in the letter which seemed to indicate that he had some such headlong project in his mind.

And yet, surely, if it were so, I ought to have noticed them at the first reading.