But as Salome Howland, she could not turn and face the man from whom she had fled, believing him disloyal to her, and that he had thrust her from his home—the man whom she believed she had so recently seen clasping her bitterest enemy to his heart, and in whose ear she had heard him murmuring words of fondest love. Ah! she could not regain her liberty, even though this might be her only opportunity to escape from that horrible place, at the cost of having her identity discovered. She could not bear to see the look of astonishment, of horror, and blighted hope, which she thought must sweep over his face, when he should learn that she was alive, and that, if his marriage with her had been legal, Sarah Rochester could never be his wife, at least, until the former tie was annulled. These thoughts flashed through her brain in that one brief moment, succeeding the announcement of her supposed name, and the agony that she suffered may be imagined. She did not hear him say that he must speak with Dr. Arnot, for he had turned as he spoke, and she only became conscious that he had gone and left her to her fate, as she heard his retreating footsteps, and her heart seemed suddenly rent in twain. He had been told that she was Sister Angela; he knew that she was the nurse to whom he owed so much, and even though he believed her to be insane, he might, at least, have come to her side, taken her hand, and spoken a word of kindness and friendly sympathy; common gratitude and humanity should have prompted as much as that after all that she had done and risked for him and his. She half turned and darted a furtive glance behind her. Dr. Winthrop was talking rapidly and earnestly with Monsieur Arnot—appeared to be asking some favor of him. Then he paused, and Salome saw Dr. Arnot shake his head decidedly as he replied, while with a nervousness that was wholly foreign to him, he seemed all at once to be anxious to hurry his visitors from the ward. “Oh, it is my only chance—my only hope!” Salome said to herself, as she saw them all turn and move toward the door; “but I cannot—I cannot meet him; it would kill me to have him recognize me and then turn coldly from me—hating me because I still live to mar his hopes for the future.” Ah, the agony of that moment! Her brain seemed on fire; her heart beat so heavily in her bosom that a sense of suffocation made her gasp and pant for breath; all the strength seemed to forsake her limbs, and a cold perspiration gathered on her brow. Now the visitors have reached the door. Dr. Arnot opens it and stands back to allow them to pass through, his face pale and anxious. One has crossed the threshold—the other is on the point of doing so; another moment, and he will be gone, and Salome believes that then she shall really go mad—that reason will surely forsake its throne.