She resolved to go to her rooms and remain in them, at least for a day or two, then she would quietly leave the hotel and go to some other.
She found her apartments very pleasant, overlooking the river and the rapids, while in the distance she could hear the never-ceasing roar of the falls. But there were no attractions in the place now for her; all interest had been swallowed up in the intense excitement that had taken possession of her.
She slept but little that night, and during all the next day she was wretched and almost ill. All her wrongs seemed to rise up afresh before her, and she wondered that Sir William had dared to cross the ocean lest her vengeance should overtake him. He was traveling, too, the same as he used to, as plain Mr. Heath. Oh, how supremely happy she had been in those lovely rooms in New York, when she had believed herself to be his honored wife, and was looking forward to a bright future as the mistress of Heathdale.
But now she believed another was reigning there. She wondered if she was fair and lovely; if she had ever suspected the wrong that her husband had done his first wife. She wondered, too, if Sir William had ever legalized that mock marriage after receiving the notice of his divorce from her.
All day she lay there, too miserable to rise, listening to every footfall that passed her door; she believed that she could recognize his step, even though a decade of years had passed since she had heard it.
When night came again she was nearly worn out, and, with little Virgie clasped close to her heart, she slept the sleep of exhaustion, and awoke the next morning feeling stronger and much refreshed, though still very unhappy.
She would not go down to breakfast, however, but had it served in her room. She had not courage to come face to face with the man who, she believed, had so wronged her; she shrank from him, but even more from the woman who, she supposed, occupied the position that belonged to her.
After breakfast she dressed her little daughter in the daintiest manner, and sent her out for a walk with her maid, telling the latter that she might keep Virgie out as long as desired, as she was not feeling well and wished to be quiet.
When they were gone she lay down again, and tried to think what was best for her to do. Should she go away immediately, and avoid all danger of being seen and recognized? Should she fly from the temptation that was fast laying hold of her to look once more upon the old-time lover—the father of her child?
She feared that it was not wise for her to linger there; indeed she knew that it would be far better for her peace of mind to turn resolutely away from all that pertained to the past, go elsewhere, and try to forget—if that were possible—that such a person as Sir William Heath had ever existed.