But at the time she could see nothing, feel nothing except her own anguish.
She left her husband's room.

There was no help or sympathy in him.

She went back to her own room and flung herself face downwards on her bed.
Let no one think she did not suffer.
A faint ray of comfort presently came to her at the thought that Michael's innocence might after all come to light.

It might be proved in spite of himself.
She would pray incessantly that the real murderer might give himself up, or that suspicion should fall on him, and he should be dragged to justice.

And then, if--_after all_--Michael were convicted and his life endangered, then she _must_ speak.