It was some satisfaction to scold herself, to make herself believe that she was vile. For she wanted to suffer, she wanted to be humbled. Not so much for the comfort of penance, not even for the luxury of sensation which makes self-torture pleasure, but that she might be sure of realizing her sins against the love which was now in command of all her being, and go on to serve it with a clean devotion. One thing only was worth doing, in one thing only could there be honour and joy, to make him welcome her and have delight in her… And so she fell among dreams….
She saw something glitter on the table by the bed, and idly put out her hand for it. She found herself looking at the diamonds of the Pretender's watch. How did Harry come to such a gorgeous toy? J.R., the diamonds wrote. Who was J.R.?
"Alison," Harry said.
She started, stared at him, and stood up. His eyes were open, and he frowned a little.
"Alison? It is you?" he said, and rubbed at his eyes.
"Yes."
"Why have you come?"
She fell on her knees by the bed. "Oh, Harry, Harry," she murmured, and hid her face.
"Is it true?"
"I will be true," she sobbed.