"What does it matter what these people think?" she retorted. "Nothing matters now. I have got Drake back, and——All the same, we will get out of sight of the window, lest we shock these simple folk. Yes, I am a lucky young woman."
They passed along the terrace, and Nell, as if released from a spell, fell into the seat and covered her face with her hands.
CHAPTER XVII.
Presently she let them fall slowly and looked vacantly with her brows drawn—as if waiting for the return of some sharp pain—in the direction of Shorne Mills. The lights had gone out; so also had died the light of her young life.
She tried to realize what this was that had happened to her; but it was so difficult—so difficult! Only a little while ago she had been happy in the possession of Drake's love. He had been hers—was her sweetheart, her very own; he was to have been her husband; she was to have been his wife.
And now—what had happened? Was she dead—had she done some evil thing which had turned his love for her to hate and driven him from her?
Slowly the numbed sensation, the feeling of stupor passed, and the truth, as she thought of it, came upon her with a rush and made her press her hand to her heart as if a knife had stabbed it.
Drake loved her no longer. He had never loved her. The woman he had loved was the most beautiful of God's creatures, and Drake had only turned to her—Nell—in a moment of pique. And this woman with the perfect face, and soft, lingering voice; this woman whose every movement was grace itself, who carried herself like an empress—an empress in the first flush of her beauty and power—had changed her mind and called him back to her. And he had gone.
The fact caused such intense misery as to leave no room for resentment. At that moment there was not one spark of anger, one drop of bitterness in Nell's emotion; only misery so acute, so agonizing, as to be like a physical pain.