Full of this idea, she rose from her bed, went about and found some little consolation in the sympathy of her friends.  They cursed the man until they heard what he had written to her.  Then a change came over their criticism, for they were not tuned to Sabina’s pitch, and it seemed to them, from their more modest standards of education, combined with the diminished self-respect where ignorance obtains, that Raymond’s offer was fair—­even handsome.  Some, indeed, still mourned with her and shared her fierce indignation; some simulated anger to please her; but most confessed to themselves that she had not much to grumble at.

A wise woman warned her against any attempt to tamper with the child.  It was too late and the danger far too serious.  So she passed through the second phase of her sufferings and went from hatred of herself and loathing of her load, to acute detestation of the man who had destroyed her.

His offer seemed to her more villainous than his desertion.  His ignorance of her true self, the insolence and contempt that prompted such a proposal, the view of her—­these thoughts lashed her into fury.  She longed for some one to help her against him and treat him as he deserved to be treated.  She felt equal to making any sacrifice, if only he might be debased and scorned and pointed at as he deserved to be.  She felt that her emotions must be shared by every honourable woman and decent man.  Her spirit hungered for a great revenge.

At first she dreamed of a personal action.  She longed to tear him with her nails, outrage him in people’s eyes and make him suffer in his flesh; but that passed:  she knew she could not do it.  A man was needed to extort punishment from Raymond.  But no man existed who would undertake the task.  She must then find such a man.  She even sought him.  But she did not find him.  The search led to bitter discoveries.  If women could forgive her betrayer; if women could say, as presently they said, that she did not know her luck, men were still more indifferent.

The attitude of the world to her sufferings horrified Sabina.  She had none to love her—­none, at least, to show his love by assaulting and injuring her enemy.  Only a certain number even took up the cudgels for her in speech.  Of these Levi Baggs, the hackler, was the strongest.  But his misanthropy embraced her also.  He had said harsh things of his new master; but neither had he spared the victim.

Upon these three great periods, of rage, futile passion, and hate, there followed a lethargy from which Ernest Churchouse tried in vain to rouse Sabina.  He apprehended worse results from this coma of mind and body than from the flux of her natural indignation.  He spent much time with her and bade her hope that Raymond might still reconsider his future.