She stayed her pacing, and passed her hand across her face.

"'Tis like a nightmare," she said--"as if one dreamed, and choked, and
panted, and would scream aloud, but could not. I cannot! I must not!
Would that I might shriek, and dash myself upon the floor, and beat my
head upon it until I lay--as _he_ does."

She stood a moment, breathing fast, her eyes widening, that part of her
which was weak woman for the moment putting her in parlous danger,
realising the which she pressed her sides with hands that were of steel.

"Wait! wait!" she said to herself. "This is going mad. This is
loosening hold, and being beaten by that One who hates me and laughs to
see what I have come to."

Naught but that unnatural engine of will could have held her within
bounds and restrained the mounting female weakness that beset her; but
this engine being stronger than all else, it beat her womanish and
swooning terrors down.

"Through this one day I must live," she said, "and plan, and guard each
moment that doth pass. My face must tell no tale, my voice must hint
none. He will be still--God knows he will be still enough."

Upon the divan itself there had been lying a little dog; 'twas a King
Charles' spaniel, a delicate pampered thing, which attached itself to
her, and was not easily driven away. Once during the last hour the
fierce, ill-hushed voices had disturbed it, and it had given vent to a
fretted bark, but being a luxurious little beast, it had soon curled up
among its cushions and gone to sleep again. But as its mistress walked