Now that it was all
over she wanted to collect herself and face the worst.
Her engagement was at an end. It was mainly that fact that she wished to
grasp. But somehow she found it very difficult. She had grown into the
habit of regarding herself as belonging exclusively and for all time to
Montagu Baring.
"He has given me up! He has given me up!" she whispered to herself, as
she paced to and fro along the crazy veranda. She recalled the look his
face had worn, the sternness, the pitilessness of his eyes. She had
always felt at the back of her heart that he had it in him to be hard,
merciless. But she had not really thought that she would ever shrink
beneath the weight of his anger. She had trusted blindly to his love to
spare her. She had imagined herself to be so dear to him that she must
be exempt. Others--it did not surprise her that others feared him. But
she--his promised wife--what could she have to fear?
She paused at the end of the veranda, looking up. The night was full of
stars, and it was very cold. At the bottom of the compound she heard the
water running swiftly. It did not chuckle any more. It had become a
miniature roar.
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