She lowered the windows from time to time, for her temples felt hot and feverish. She seemed to have nothing left her now but light and air, and just then the former was absent and the latter choking; and to her tortured soul life had but lately seemed so beautiful. 'How proud I was of his love! oh happy, happy days that can return no more!' were her ever recurrent thoughts. Yet such love as he had professed for her had been but a disgrace and a sham! With all her affection, earnest and true, when she reflected how far he must have gone, and so daringly, out of his way to deceive her, and to throw dust in the eyes of her and her brother Roland, she felt one moment inclined to hate and scorn him, and the next her heart died within her at such a state of matters; and, with all her shattered trust, love came back again--but love for what--for _whom_? Then came other thoughts. Why had she been so precipitate? What if the whole apparent catastrophe was some dire but explainable mistake? Why had she not consulted Hester, who was so clever, so gentle, and loving, and her old uncle, Sir Harry? But he was old and sorely ailing now. _Infirm of purpose_, she began to fear that she had been perhaps too rash, and starting up, as if she would leave the carriage, she began to think--to think already--that to undo all she had done, she would give her right hand. Her left--it bore no wedding-ring now. She looked at her watch--midnight; long ere this Jack must have known that she had discovered all! Morning drew on, and in its colder, purer air and atmosphere her thoughts seemed to become clearer, and as the train glided on through the flat and monotonous scenery of England she began to consider the possibility that she might have been deceived--that she had been too swift in avenging her wrongs, or supposed wrongs--and this impression grew with the growing brightness of the reddening dawn, and with that impulsiveness which was characteristic of her, an hour even before the dawn came, she resolved that she would return--she would face the calamity out; she would cast herself upon her friends--not on the world; but how to stop the train, which flew on and on, inexorably on past station after station, every one of which seemed almost dark and deserted. The steam was let off suddenly; the speed of the train grew slower and slower; it stopped at last in an open and sequestered place, on an embankment overlooking a great stretch of darkened, dimly seen, and flat country, half shrouded, as usual, in haze and mist. Heads in travelling caps and strange gear were thrust from every window; inquiries were made anxiously and angrily; but no answer was accorded; the officials seemed all to have become very deaf and intensely sullen, while no passenger could alight, as every door was securely locked, to their alarm and indignation.