Whenever they had had such weather before, Salve had always come down from time to time to see her.

Now--she didn't know what to think.

From what the cook had told her, she gathered that they were beating with unjustifiable recklessness, and from the tone of Salve's voice she knew that he was in a savagely defiant mood, and that she, for some reason or other, was the cause of it.

Her expression gradually changed to one of deeper and deeper anxiety of soul.
"But what have I done to him ?" she exclaimed impetuously, and buried her face in the bedclothes.
"What have I done to him ?" she repeated.

"What can he believe ?--what can he possibly think ?" she asked herself, as she stood now like a statue almost, lost in conjecture, until the thought which she had always tried to keep away came up before her in full, heavy, unmistakable clearness.
"He doesn't trust me!" she whispered to herself, in despair.