There could never be any escape for her again. She was
fettered hand and foot. It was useless any longer to strive. She stood
and faced the truth.
She did not ask herself how it was she had ever come to care. She only
numbly realised that she had always cared. And she knew now that to no
woman is it given so to hate as she had hated without the spur of Love
goading her thereto. Ah, but Love was cruel!
Love was merciless! For she had never known--nor ever could know
now--the ecstasy of Love. Truly, it conquered; but it left its
prisoners to perish of starvation in the wilderness.
A slight sound in the midnight silence! A timid hand softly trying
the door-handle! She sprang up, dropping the ring upon her table, and
turned to see Olga in her nightdress, standing in the doorway.
"I was awake," the child explained tremulously. "And I heard you
moving. And I wondered, dear Muriel, if perhaps I could do anything to
help you. You--you don't mind?"
Muriel opened her arms impulsively. She felt as if Olga had been sent
to lighten her darkest hour.
For a while she held her close, not speaking at all; and it was Olga
who at last broke the silence.
"Darling, are you crying for Captain Grange?"
She raised her head then to meet the child's gaze of tearful sympathy.
"I am not crying, dear," she said.
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