She had seen a man come into a room once, with a bunch of flowers in his awkward, unaccustomed hand; she had heard the slapping thud with which they had been hurled into the grate.
"So you'll break your word!"
It seemed to her that the words were spoken aloud, now, at this moment, in the room. And a blinding light illuminated her. She knew, as completely as a moment before she had ignored, that Captain Brooke was none other than Bert Mestaer.
Waves of cold and heat, sudden dizziness clutched her. He was coming in—in a moment he would be there—she could not face him.
Terror prevented unconsciousness. Catching at the furniture, she staggered across the room to the inner room leading to the kitchen.
"Take me upstairs—a bedroom—I must lie down!" she gasped; and as the maid-servant, scared by her white face, rushed forward and encircled her with a strong arm, she gasped: "Don't say anything to Captain Brooke ... please. I shall be ... better directly."
The girl half supported, half dragged her up the narrow stair.
"Dear miss, what shall I do? Burnt feathers? Key down your back?" cried she distractedly.
"Is there—cold water? Yes, that's all. Go away please. Go! Come back in ten minutes. Leave me alone now."
Melicent turned the key in the door, and sank upon the scanty feathers of the rocky bed. For several minutes her one overpowering, paralysing sensation was fear. She could not think at all.