"Oh, I could kill Rupert! I could kill him," she thought madly, "but that would do no good. If I thought it would I should not hesitate. I dare not tell Kaituna the truth, because she would shrink from me. Rupert, once he knows I am here will not let me remain. If I sold my soul it would be useless. I can do nothing except bear my punishment till I die."
Suddenly an idea came into her head. Suppose Rupert Pethram were to die before he came to Thornstream. In that case she would still retain her position, and be happy for the rest of her life. But then there was no chance of him dying--a healthy, strong man. And unless something happened he would return to Thornstream and turn her out on the world.
"If the ship would only go down! If God would only unchain the winds of heaven and dash the ship to pieces on the rocks."
Mrs. Belswin, as it will be seen, was not a religious woman when she thought thus, and was willing to sacrifice dozens of human lives in order to get rid of her enemy. It was simply Balzac's mandarin over again, and Mrs. Belswin, with her savage disregard of human life, would have sacrificed all the mandarins in China, yea, China itself, if by so doing she could have retained her position undisturbed.
However, there was but small possibility of either mandarin or ship perishing to please her, so she began to wonder in her own mind how she could get rid of Pethram before he could arrive at Thornstream. Ah, if Stephano Ferrari----
Stephano Ferrari! The idea came to her like an inspiration, and she hurriedly thought out a plan. Ferrari loved her, he would do anything to get her to marry him. Well, she would do so provided he got rid of Pethram and secured her position with her daughter. Murder! no, not murder, but suppose Pethram disappeared? Then----
Her brain was in a whirl, her throat was dry with excitement, and she leaned against a fence for a few minutes to keep herself from falling, for the earth seemed spinning round her and the sky red as blood before her eyes. With an effort she pulled herself together and looked around.
"Mrs. Belk's cottage," she said, with a gasp of relief! "I'll go in and rest."
"The marble statue of an antique god May win our admiration for a time, Seeing it lacks not any outward grace, But stands a type of flesh idealised. Yet as we gaze in silent wonderment, We weary of the irresponsive stone, Because the cold perfection wants a soul."