"Sleep, sleep, my sweet Princess," he said softly, and then crept stealthily from the room.
CHAPTER XVIII
The light was gray when Tamara awoke, though the lamp still burned—more than three parts of the window was darkened by snow—only a peep of daylight flickered in at the top.
Where was she! What had happened? Something ghastly—but what?
Then she perceived her torn blouse, and with a terrible pang remembrance came back to her.
She started up, and as she did so realized she was only in her stockinged feet.
For a moment she staggered a little and then fell back on the couch.
The awful certainty—or so it seemed to her—of what had occurred came upon her, Gritzko had won—she was utterly disgraced.
The whole training of her youth thundered at her. Of all sins, none had been thought so great as this which had happened to her.
She was an outcast. She was no better than poor Mary Gibson whom Aunt
Clara had with harshness turned from her house.