She had never fully realised before how wide the gulf between them had become.
She remained shut up in her room all the evening, eating nothing, face to face with the horror of young Devereux's brief words.

It was the first time within her memory that death had approached her sheltered life, and she was shocked and frightened, as a child is frightened by the terrors of the dark.
Very late that night she crept into bed, dismissing her _ayah_, and lay there shivering and forlorn, thinking, thinking, of the cruel faces and flashing knives that Phil had awaked to see.

She dozed at last in her misery, only to wake again with a shriek of nightmare terror, and start up sobbing hysterically.
"Why, Audrey!" a quiet voice said, and she woke fully, to find her husband standing by her bed.
She turned to him impulsively, hiding her face against him, clinging to him with straining arms.

She could not utter a word, for an anguish of weeping overtook her.

And he was silent also, bending over her, his hand upon her head.
Gradually the paroxysm passed and she grew quieter; but she still clung closely to him, and at length with difficulty she began to speak.
"Oh, Eustace, it's all so horrible! I can't help seeing it.