ploring dependence. But she spoke again, hurriedly, looking at him—
"You will not say that I ought to tell the world? you will not say that I ought to be disgraced? I could not do it. I could not bear it. I cannot have my mother know. Not if I were dead. I could not have her know. I must tell you; but you will not say that any one else should know."
"I can say nothing in my ignorance," said Deronda, mournfully, "except that I desire to help you."
"I told you from the beginning—as soon as I could—I told you I was afraid of myself." There was a piteous pleading in the low murmur to which Deronda turned his ear only. Her face afflicted him too much. "I felt a hatred in me that was always working like an evil spirit—contriving things. Everything I could do to free myself came into my mind; and it got worse—all things got worse. That was why I asked you to come to me in town. I thought then I would tell you the worst about myself. I tried. But I could not tell everything. And he came in."
She paused, while a shudder passed through her; but soon went on.
"I will tell you everything now. Do you think
