'Twas not I, 'twas Fate," she said--"'twas not I, 'twas Fate--'twas the great wheel we are bound to, which goes round and round that we may be broken on it.

'Twas not I who bound myself there; and I will not be broken so." She said the words through her clenched teeth, and with all the mad passion of her most lawless years; even at Anne she looked almost in the old ungentle fashion, as though half scorning all weaker than herself, and having small patience with them.
"There will be a way," she said--"there will be a way.

I shall not swoon again." She left her divan and stood upright, the colour having come back to her face; but the look Anne worshipped not having returned with it, 'twas as though Mistress Clorinda Wildairs had been born again.
"To-morrow morning I go forth on Devil," she said; "and I shall be abroad if any visitors come." What passed in her chamber that night no human being knew.

Anne, who left her own apartment and crept into a chamber near hers to lie and watch, knew that she paced to and fro, but heard no other sound, and dared not intrude upon her.
When she came forth in the morning she wore the high look she had been wont to wear in the years gone by, when she ruled in her father's house, and rode to the hunt with a following of gay middle-aged and elderly rioters.

Her eye was brilliant, and her colour matched it.