"What else could have been?" she groaned. "Naught else--naught else.
'Twas a trick--a trick of Fate to ruin me for my punishment."

When she had gone forth it had been with no hope in her breast that her
wit might devise a way to free herself from the thing which so beset her,
for she had no weak fancies that there dwelt in this base soul any germ
of honour which might lead it to relenting. As she had sat in her dark
room at night, crouched upon the floor, and clenching her hands, as the
mad thoughts went whirling through her brain, she had stared her Fate in
the face and known all its awfulness. Before her lay the rapture of a
great, sweet, honourable passion, a high and noble life lived in such
bliss as rarely fell to lot of woman--on this one man she knew that she
could lavish all the splendour of her nature, and make his life a heaven,
as hers would be. Behind her lay the mad, uncared-for years, and one
black memory blighting all to come, though 'twould have been but a black
memory with no power to blight if the heaven of love had not so opened to
her and with its light cast all else into shadow.

"If 'twere not love," she cried--"if 'twere but ambition, I could defy it
to the last; but 'tis love--love--love, and it will kill me to forego
it."

Even as she moaned the words she heard hoof beats near her, and a
horseman leaped the hedge and was at her side. She set her teeth, and
turning, stared into John Oxon's face.

"Did you think I would not follow you?" he asked.

"No," she answered.