They were sad enough, and it required all her firmness to support her.
When considering what was likely to befal her in consequence of her adherence to the fortunes of Fawkes and his companions, she had often pictured some dreadful situation like the present, but the reality far exceeded her worst anticipations.

She had deemed herself equal to any emergency, but as she thought upon the dark menaces of the Earl of Salisbury, she felt it would require greater fortitude than she had hitherto displayed to bear her through her trial.

Nor were her meditations entirely confined to herself.

While trembling for the perilous situation of Guy Fawkes, she reproached herself that she could not requite even in thought the passionate devotion of Humphrey Chetham.
"What matters it now," she thought, "that I cannot love him?
I shall soon be nothing to him, or to any one.

And yet I feel I have done him wrong, and that I should be happier if I _could_ requite his attachment.
But the die is cast.