Then she awoke, and rejoiced to see the light of day streaming into the room; for she was frightened at her nightmare, though the sense of peace with which it closed left her strangely comforted. Death must be like that, she thought. At breakfast Joan inquired of the servant how Mr. Levinger was; and, being of a communicative disposition, the girl told her that he had gone to bed late last night, after sitting up to burn and arrange papers, and said that he should stop there until the doctor had been. She added that a letter had arrived from Sir Henry announcing his intention of coming to see her master after lunch. Joan informed the woman that she would wait at Monk’s Lodge to hear Dr. Childs’s report, but that Mr. Levinger need not be troubled about her, since, having only a handbag with her, she could find her own way back to Bradmouth, either on foot or by train. Then she went to her room and sat down to think. Henry was coming here, and she was glad of it; for, dreadful as such an interview would be, already she had made up her mind that she must see him alone and for the last time. Everything else she could bear, but she could no longer bear that he should think her vile and faithless. To-day she must go to her husband, but first Henry should learn why she went. He was safely married now, and no harm could come of it, she argued. Also, if she did not take this opportunity, how could she know when she might find another? An instinct warned her that her career in Bradmouth as the wife of Mr. Rock would be a short one; and at least she was sure that, when once she was in his power, he would be careful that she should have no chance of speaking with the man whom he knew to have been her lover. Yes, it might be unheroic and inconsistent, but she could keep silence no longer; see him she must and would, were it only to tell him that his child had lived, and was dead.