Meanwhile she must suffer quietly, and hope for the best; that was all left for her to do. She was surprised at the calmness of her despair. In the old days her fiery jealousy of Torn Durham had leapt forward at the slightest provocation, rendering her oftentimes the laughing-stock of her husband and his ribald friends; now, when the first gathering of the suspicion crossed her mind that a man, far dearer to her than ever her husband had been, was in love with another woman, she accepted the position, not without dire suffering it is true, but with calmness and submission. It might not be the case, after all. From what little she had seen of Alice, Pauline scarcely suspected her of being the right woman to understand or appreciate Martin Gurwood. She had been accustomed to be petted and spoiled by an old man, who was her slave; she was not intended by nature to be much more than a spoilt child, a doll to be petted and played with, and the finer traits in Martin's character would be lost upon her. She was grateful to him as her benefactor, of course, but she had never exhibited any other feeling towards him, and Pauline did not think that she would allow her gratitude to have much influence over her future. Moreover--but, as Pauline knew perfectly well, little reliance was to be placed upon that--she professed herself inconsolable for her recent loss, and talked of perpetual widowhood as her only possible condition. So that Pauline thought that there were two chances, either of which would suit her--one that Alice would never marry again; the other that she might marry some one else in preference to Martin Gurwood. It was growing late, and Pauline, wearied and exhausted, extinguished the lamp, and made the best of her way up the staircase in the dark. As she passed by the door of the room in which Alice slept, she thought she heard a stifled cry. She paused for an instant and listened; the cry was repeated, followed by a low moan. Alarmed at this, Pauline tried the door; it was unfastened, and yielded to her touch. Hurrying in, she found Alice sitting upright in her bed, her hair streaming over her shoulders, and an expression of terror in her face. 'What on earth is the matter, poor child?' cried Pauline, putting her arm round the girl, and peering into the darkness. 'What has disturbed you in your sleep?' 'Nothing,' said Alice, placing her hand upon her heart to still its beating; 'nothing--at least, only a foolish fancy of my own. Do not leave me,' she cried, as Pauline moved away from her. 'I am not going to leave you, dear, be sure of that,' said Pauline; 'I am only going to get a light in order that I may be certain where I am and what I am about. There,' she said, as, after striking a match and lighting the gas, she returned to the bed. 'Now you shall tell me what frightened you and caused you to cry out so loudly.'