Fay's obvious wayward misery, which yet seemed to bring her no nearer to repentance, preyed upon her.

She was crushed beneath her own promise of secrecy.
Every day as it passed seemed to cast yet another stone on the heap under which she lay.
Could she dare to keep that promise?
How much longer could she dare to keep it?
And yet if she broke it, what would breaking it avail?
Certainly not Michael's release.

No creature would believe her unsupported word.

She had not even been in Italy at the time.

She would only appear to be mad.