She had fainting fits, and in the comfort administered by those about her she read plainly what was meant to be concealed.

At times this was a relief; at least she might hope to be spared long years of weary desolation, and death, come when he might, would be a friend.

In other hours the all but certainty of her doom was a thought so terrible that reason well-nigh failed before it.

Was there no hope for her for ever, nothing but the grave to rest her tired heart?
Why had fate dealt with her so cruelly?
She looked round and saw none upon whom had fallen a curse so unrelieved.
At last the desire to go once more to the south of England grew overpowering.

If she could live in London, she felt it might console her to feel that she was near Wilfrid; he would not seem, as now, in a world utterly remote.