CHAPTER 7

With the clearing of the sky, Nancy’s spirit grew lighter.  She went about London, and enjoyed it after her long seclusion in the little Cornish town; enjoyed, too, her release from manifold restraints and perils.  Her mental suffering had made the physical harder to bear; she was now recovering health of mind and body, and found with surprise that life had a new savour, independent of the timorous joy born with her child.  Strangely, as it seemed to her, she grew conscious of a personal freedom not unlike what she had vainly desired in the days of petulant girlhood; the sense came only at moments, but was real and precious; under its influence she forgot everything abnormal in her situation, and—­though without recognising this significance—­knew the exultation of a woman who has justified her being.

A day or two of roaming at large gave her an appetite for activity.  Satisfied that her child was safe and well cared for, she turned her eyes upon the life of the world, and wished to take some part in it —­not the part she had been wont to picture for herself before reality supplanted dreams.  Horace’s example on the one hand, and that of Jessica Morgan on the other, helped her to contemn mere social excitement and the idle vanity which formerly she styled pursuit of culture.  Must there not be discoverable, in the world to which she had, or could obtain, access, some honest, strenuous occupation, which would hold in check her unprofitable thoughts and soothe her self-respect?

That her fraud, up to and beyond the crucial point, had escaped detection, must be held so wonderful, that she felt justified in an assurance of impunity.  The narrowest escape of which she was aware had befallen only a few weeks ago.  On the sixth day after the birth of the child, there was brought to her lodgings at Falmouth a note addressed to ‘Miss.  Lord.’  Letters bearing this address had arrived frequently, and by the people of the house were supposed to be for Mary Woodruff, who went by the name of ‘Miss.  Lord,’ Nancy having disguised herself as ‘Mrs. Woodruff;’ but they had always come by post, and the present missive must be from some acquaintance actually in the town.  Nancy could not remember the handwriting.  Breaking open the envelope as she lay in bed, she saw with alarm the signature ‘Luckworth Crewe.’  He was at Falmouth on business, Crewe wrote, and, before leaving London, he had ventured to ask Miss Lord’s address from her brother, whom he casually met somewhere.  Would Nancy allow him to see her, were it but for a minute or two?  Earnestly he besought this favour.  He desired nothing more than to see Miss.  Lord, and to speak with her in the way of an ordinary acquaintance.  After all this time, she had, he felt sure, forgiven his behaviour at their last meeting.  Only five minutes of conversation—­