ch burned her up, inside and out, shrivelling soul and body
together. As she lay thinking over it, with her eyes closed,
suddenly she remembered, with a pang of dismay, that she had got
drunk and broken her vow--that was the origin of the bad dream, and
the dreadful headache, and the burning at her heart! She must have
water! Painfully lifting herself upon one elbow, she opened her
eyes. Then what a bewilderment, and what a discovery, slow
unfolding itself, were hers! Like her first parents she had fallen;
her paradise was gone; she lay outside among the thorns and thistles
before the gate. From being the virtual mistress of a great house,
she was back in her dreary lonely garret! Re-exiled in shame from
her briefly regained respectability, from friendship and honourable
life and the holding forth of help to the world, she lay there a sow
that had been washed, and washed in vain! What a sight of disgrace
was her grand satin gown--wet, and scorched, and smeared with
candle! and ugh! how it smelt of smoke and burning and the dregs of
whisky! And her lace!--She gazed at her finery as an angel might on
his feathers which the enemy had burned while he slept on his watch.

She must have water! She got out of bed with difficulty, then for a
whole hour sat on the edge of it motionless, unsure that she was not
in hell. At last she wept--acrid tears, for very misery. She rose,
took off her satin and lace, put on a cotton gown, and was once more
a decent-looking poor body--except as to her glowing face and
burning eyes, which to bathe she had nothing but tears. Again she
sat down, and for a space did nothing, only suffered in ignominy.
At last life began to revive a little. She rose and moved about
the room, staring at the things in it as a ghost might stare at the
grave-clothes on its abandoned body. There on the table lay her
keys; and what was that under them?--A letter addressed to her. She
opened it, and found five pound-notes, with these words: "I promise
to pay to Mrs. Croale five pounds monthly, for nine months to come.
Gilbert Galbraith." She wept again. He would never speak to her
more! She had lost him at last--her only friend!--her sole link to
God and goodness and the kingdom of heaven!--lost him for ever!

The day went on, cold and foggy without, colder and drearier within.
Sick and faint and disgusted, the poor heart had no atmosphere to
beat in save an infinite sense of failure and lost oppor