"Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. It seems Valade visited him that day to present his credentials, and Charvill posted straight off to inform his great-uncle. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. She dismissed the idea of doing so. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly.
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