For, crossing all these memories of things, new or exciting, there was a constant sense of something untoward, something infinitely tragic, accompanying them, developing beside them.

In this feverish silence it became a nightmare presence filling the room.
What was the truth about Mr.Manisty and his cousin?
Lucy searched her own innocent mind and all its new awakening perceptions in vain.

The intimacy of the friendship, as she had first seen it; the tone used by Mr.Manisty that afternoon in speaking of Mrs.Burgoyne; the hundred small signs of a deep distress in her, of a new detachment in him--Lucy wandered in darkness as she thought of them, and yet with vague pangs and jarring vibrations of the heart.
Her troubled dream was suddenly broken by a sound.

She sprang up trembling.
Was it an angry, distant voice?
Did it come from the room across the balcony?
No!--it was the loud talking of a group of men on the road outside.

She shook all over, unable to restrain herself.