She had no sense of indignation as yet—only a wild and clamorous one of fear, or dread, she knew not of what—of being disgraced, and, it might be, the victim of a mad-man's freak. She was in utter solitude, and no sound seemed to be there but the loud beating of her heart.
Past grief and anxiety had rendered her very weak and unable to withstand the tension on her nerves caused by this astounding accusation and catastrophe, of which she could neither calculate nor see the end. Then an exhaustion that was utter and complete followed, and for a time she was physically and mentally prostrate—in that awful sense of desolation and heart-broken grief that God in His mercy permits few to suffer.... So passed the night.
'A person—a gentleman,' said a commissionaire at the Rag doubtfully to Villiers as he entered the vestibule, 'has been waiting here for nearly an hour for you, sir.'
'Oh—it is you, Mr.—Mr.——'
'Grabbley, sir,' said the little man affably, his ferret eyes twinkling, and his vulgar face rippling over with a smile.
'You have some news, I suppose?'
'Yes, sir, I've nabbed her.'
'When?'
'Yesterday morning.'
'Where?'