The little dog’s presence was a comfort, but his night of combat and scuffling was not a restful one and the poor prisoner’s sickness of heart and nervous terrors grew upon her every hour, with misgivings lest she should be clinging to a shadow, and sacrificing her return to Betty’s arms for a phantom.  There were moments when her anguish of vague terror and utter loneliness impelled her to long to sign her renunciation that moment; and when she thought of recurring hours and weeks of such days and such nights her spirit quailed within her, and Loveday might have found her less calmly steadfast had she come in the morning.

She did not come, and this in itself was a disappointment, for at least she brought a human voice and a pitying countenance which, temptress though she might be, had helped to bear Aurelia through the first days.  Oh! could she but find anything to do!  She had dusted her two rooms as well as she could consistently with care for the dress she could not change.  She blamed herself extremely for having forgotten her Bible and Prayer-book when hastily making up her bundle of necessaries, and though there was little chance that Madge should possess either, or be able to read, she nerved herself to ask.  “Bible! what should ye want of a Bible, unless to play the hypocrite?  I hain’t got none!” was the reply.

So Aurelia could only walk up and down the court trying to repeat the Psalms, and afterwards the poetry she had learnt for Mr. Belamour’s benefit, sometimes deriving comfort from the promises, but oftener wondering whether he had indeed deserted her in anger at her distrustful curiosity.  She tried to scrape the mossgrown Triton, she crept up stairs to the window that looked towards the City, and cleared off some of the dimness, and she got a needle and thread and tried to darn the holes in the curtains and cushions, but the rotten stuff crumbled under her fingers, and would not hold the stitches.  At last she found in a dusty corner a boardless book with neither beginning nor end, being Defoe’s Plague of London.  She read and read with a horrid fascination, believing every word of it, wondering whether this house could have been infected, and at length feeling for the plague spot!

A great church-clock enabled her to count the hours!  Oh, how many there were of them!  How many more would there be?  This was only her second day, and deliverance could not come for weeks, were her young husband—­if husband he were—­ever so faithful.  How should she find patience in this dreariness, interspersed with fits of alarm lest he should be dangerously ill and suffering?  She fell on her knees and prayed for him and for herself!