Her eyes followed him slowly with a hard and tearless
despair. "Rally your spirits," she repeated to herself in a
whisper. "My spirits! O God!" She looked round her at the luxury
and beauty of the room, as those look who take their leave of
familiar scenes. The moment after, her eyes sank, and rested on
the rich dress that she wore a gift from Lady Janet. She thought
of the past; she thought of the future. Was the time near when
she would be back again in the Refuge, or back again in the
streets?--she who had been Lady Janet's adopted daughter, and
Horace Holmcroft's betrothed wife! A sudden frenzy of
recklessness seized on her as she thought of the coming end.
Horace was right! Why not rally her spirits? Why not make the
most of her time? The l ast hours of her life in that house were
at hand. Why not enjoy her stolen position while she could?
"Adventuress!" whispered the mocking spirit within her, "be true
to your character. Away with your remorse! Remorse is the luxury
of an honest woman." She caught up her basket of wools, inspired
by a new idea. "Ring the bell!" she cried out to Horace at the
fire-place.
He looked round in wonder.
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