Women said they would have done the same, and envied her her romantic situation.
And Fay, shut up in her darkened room in her romantic situation--she who adored romantic situations--what were Fay's thoughts?
There is a travail of soul which toils with hard crying up the dark valley of decision, and brings forth in anguish the life entrusted to it.

Perhaps it is the great renunciation.

Perhaps it is only the loyal inevitable deed which is struggling to come forth, to be allowed to live for our healing and comfort.
But there is another travail of soul, barren, unavailing, which flings itself down, and tosses in impotent misery from side to side, from mood to mood, as in a sickly trance.
Such was Fay's.
Her decision not to speak had been made in the moment when she had let Michael accuse himself, and she kept silence.

But that she did not know.
She thought it was still to make.
"I must speak.

I must speak," she said to herself all through the endless day after Michael's arrest, all through the endless night, until the dawn came up behind the ilexes, the tranquil dawn that knew all, and found her shuddering and wild-eyed.
"I must speak.