the change in
Miss Assher's manner was unaccountable. Those compassionate attentions,
those smiling condescensions, were torture to Caterina, who was
constantly tempted to repulse them with anger. She thought, 'Perhaps
Anthony has told her to be kind to poor Tina.' This was an insult. He
ought to have known that the mere presence of Miss Assher was painful to
her, that Miss Assher's smiles scorched her, that Miss Assher's kind
words were like poison stings inflaming her to madness. And he--Anthony
--he was evidently repenting of the tenderness he had been betrayed into
that morning in the drawing-room. He was cold and distant and civil to
her, to ward off Beatrice's suspicions, and Beatrice could be so gracious
now, because she was sure of Anthony's entire devotion. Well! and so it
ought to be--and she ought not to wish it otherwise. And yet--oh, he
_was_ cruel to her. She could never have behaved so to him. To make her
love him so--to speak such tender words--to give her such caresses, and
then to behave as if such things had never been. He had given her the
poison that seemed so sweet while she was drinking it, and now it was in
her blood, and she was helpless.'

With this tempest pent up in her bosom, the poor child went up to her
room every night, and there it all burst forth. There, with loud whispers
and sobs, restlessly pacing up and down, lying on the hard floor,
courting cold and weariness, she told to the pitiful listening night the
anguish which she could pour into no mortal ear. But always sleep came at
last, and always in the morning the reactive calm that enabled her to
live through the day.

It is amazing how long a young frame will go on battling with this sort
of secret wretchedness, and yet show no traces of the conflict for any
but sympathetic eyes. The very delicacy of Caterina's usual appearance,
her natural paleness and habitually quiet mouse-like ways, made any
symptoms of fatigue and suffering less noticeable. And her singing--the
one thing in which she ceased to be passive, and became prominent--lost
none of its energy. She herself sometimes wondered how it was that,
whether she felt sad or angry, crushed with the sense of Anthony's
indifference, or burning with impatience under Miss Assher's attentions,
it was always a relief to her to sing. Those full deep notes she sent
forth seemed to be lifting the pain from her heart--seemed to be carrying
away the madness from her brain.

Thus Lady Che