And her misery was great.

If for one day she had recaptured the lightness of heart which had been hers before the three white feathers came to Ramelton, she had now recaptured something of the grief which followed upon their coming.

A difference there was, of course.

Her pride was restored, and she had a faint hope born of Durrance's words that Harry after all might perhaps be rescued.

But she knew again the long and sleepless nights and the dull hot misery of the head as she waited for the grey of the morning.