She was stunned and bewildered by the force and suddenness of the blow that had stricken her.
One tangible thought alone ran through the mass of confused and conflicting feeling.
It was that she must fly, at all hazards, from her humiliating position in Colonel Carlyle's house.
She did not know where she would go, or how she would manage her flight. She would leave it all to Lucy.
The girl was clear-headed and intelligent. They would go away together, and Lucy would find a hiding-place somewhere for her wretched head.
But, oh! the shame, the misery of it all!
Leslie Dane was alive, yet she who was his wife in the sight of Heaven dare not rejoice in the knowledge. His resurrection from his supposed death had fixed a blighting hand upon her beautiful brow.
"Oh, God!" she moaned, wringing her white hands helplessly, "what have I done to deserve this heavy cross?"
The minutes passed slowly, but Lucy did not return. The little French pendule on the mantel chimed the quarters of the hour three times while Bonnibel sat drooping in her chair alone. Then the door was pushed rudely open and Colonel Carlyle entered.