Here she might think as much as she liked, and well she availed herself of that privilege.

Here she would sit alone for hours every day, with her head bent over some bit of work, her busy fingers pleating and stitching, while her thoughts took wing over the leaden wintry sea before her.

Away and away, in search of Cardo.

Where was he?
Why did he not write to her?
Would he ever come?
Would he ever write?
And with weary reiteration she sought out every imaginary reason for his long silence.
New hopes, new fears had of late dawned in her heart, at first giving rise to a full tide of happiness and joy, the joy that comes with the hope of motherhood--woman's crowning glory; but the joy and happiness had gradually given place to anxiety and fear, and latterly, since it had become impossible for her to hide her condition from those around her, she was filled with trouble and distressing forebodings, Her sensitive nature received continual wounds.

Suspicious looks and taunting sneers, innuendos and broad suggestions all came to her with exceeding bitterness.