y the bed, and
burying her face to shut out the hateful light, she tried to recall every
feeling and incident of the morning.

It all came back; everything Anthony had done, and everything she had
felt for the last month--for many months--ever since that June evening
when he had last spoken to her in the gallery. She looked back on her
storms of passion, her jealousy and hatred of Miss Assher, her thoughts
of revenge on Anthony. O how wicked she had been! It was she who had been
sinning; it was she who had driven him to do and say those things that
had made her so angry. And if he had wronged her, what had she been on
the verge of doing to him? She was too wicked ever to be pardoned. She
would like to confess how wicked she had been, that they might punish
her; she would like to humble herself to the dust before every
one--before Miss Assher even. Sir Christopher would send her away--would
never see her again, if he knew all; and she would be happier to be
punished and frowned on, than to be treated tenderly while she had that
guilty secret in her breast. But then, if Sir Christopher were to know
all, it would add to his sorrow, and make him more wretched than ever.
No! she could not confess it--she should have to tell about Anthony. But
she could not stay at the Manor; she must go away; she could not bear Sir
Christopher's eye, could not bear the sight of all these things that
reminded her of Anthony and of her sin. Perhaps she should die soon: she
felt very feeble; there could not be much life in her. She would go away
and live humbly, and pray to God to pardon her, and let her die.

The poor child never thought of suicide. No sooner was the storm of anger
passed than the tenderness and timidity of her nature returned, and she
could do nothing but love and mourn. Her inexperience prevented her from
imagining the consequences of her disappearance from the Manor; she
foresaw none of the terrible details of alarm and distress and search
that must ensue. 'They will think I am dead,' she said to herself, 'and
by-and-by they will forget me, and Maynard will get happy again, and love
some one else.'

She was roused from her absorption by a knock at the door. Mrs. Bellamy
was there. She had come by Mr. Gilfil's request to see how Miss Sarti
was, and to bring her some food and wine.

'You look sadly, my dear,' said the old housekeeper, 'an' you're all of a
quake wi' cold. Get you to bed, now do. Martha shall come an' warm i