A day and a night had to be lived through before she could know her fate, so long must she suffer things not to be uttered.

A day and a night, and then, perchance--nay, certainly--the vanguard of a vast army of pain-stricken hours.

There was no passion now in her thought of Wilfrid; her love had become the sternness of resolve which dreads itself.

An hour ago her heart had been pierced with self-pity in thinking that she should suffer thus so far away from him, without the possibility of his aid, her suffering undreamt by him.

Now, in her reviving strength, she had something of the martyr's joy.