I saw an immense relief in the poor old faces, although their cloud barely lifted.  They did not thank me.  Perhaps they knew I could not have borne it.  I saw them creep closer together as though for comfort, as I got up and went away to my own room.

I was as glad as I could be of anything that Nora had gone a day or two earlier to nurse one of her uncle’s children who was sick.  How could I have borne her presence about me?  To think I had saved her and had myself fallen into the net!  And at least she had loved the man, incredible as it seemed, while I recoiled from him with loathing, because I loved another man with my whole heart and soul.

Something within me cried out that it would be a wicked marriage.  I fell on my knees by my bed, but I could not pray.  I felt numb and sick.  I stretched my arms out across the little white bed where I had slept so happily, despite the ghosts.  I laid my face upon them and stayed there in a trance of misery.

I heard my grandmother pause at the door and listen as she went down the corridor to her bedroom, and I dreaded that she should come in; but, perhaps, thinking from the silence that I was asleep she went on after the pause.

I must have fallen asleep in that comfortless position for when I awoke I was chilled and stiff.  There was white moonlight in the room, and I heard, with a sinking of my heart, the crying of the woman in the shrubbery.  She always came when there was trouble.  Well, God knows, there was trouble enough now, such a coil of trouble for me that death had been an easy way out of it.

I crept into bed and thought miserably of what Anthony Cardew would think of me when he should hear of my disgrace.  Of course he would not know why I had married Richard Dawson.  He had yielded me up to poor Theobald as he thought, and instead of Theobald, whom I might have loved if I had never seen Anthony Cardew—­handsome, generous, of honourable lineage, he would know that I had married Richard Dawson, with his bad traditions behind him, and himself a wild, careless liver, with many sins to his account.  He would never know how I loathed it.  Perhaps he would even think that I married for money.  Even if I were dead, and I felt I must die of marrying Richard Dawson, he could never think of me except with contempt and loathing.

The next morning Maureen came with my tea.

“Why are you looking like alabaster on your pillow?” she asked, with some indignation.  “There’s good news coming, I tell you.  There’s good news coming.  See how fine the morning is!  I never slept a sweeter sleep, and it was in my sleep I had word.”

I shrank even from Maureen’s half-mad eyes.  What would she say when she knew that I was to marry Richard Dawson?  She had always loved Theobald and had looked forward to our marriage.  I was afraid of Maureen’s eyes.

“I’ll toss the cup for you,” she said when I had drunk my tea.  “There’s a beautiful fortune in it for you, Miss Bawn.  I see a wedding-coach and four horses——­”