ng as if he was talking to himself.

The same difficulty which had been present to his mind in secret under
Anne's window was present to his mind still.

How? That was the problem to solve. How?

He turned to the brandy, and took counsel of that.

CHAPTER THE FIFTIETH.

THE MORNING.

WHEN does the vain regret find its keenest sting? When is the doubtful
future blackened by its darkest cloud? When is life least worth having,
and death oftenest at the bedside? In the terrible morning hours,
when the sun is rising in its glory, and the birds are singing in the
stillness of the new-born day.

Anne woke in the strange bed, and looked round her, by the light of the
new morning, at the strange room.

The rain had all fallen in the night. The sun was master in the clear
autumn sky. She rose, and opened the window. The fresh morning air, keen
and fragrant, filled the room. Far and near, the same bright stillness
possessed the view. She stood at the window looking out. Her mind was
clear again--she could think, she could feel; she could face the one
last question which the merciless morning now forced on her--How will it
end?

Was there any hope?--hope for instance, in what she might do for
herself. What can a married woman do for herself? She can make her
misery public--provided it be misery of a certain kind--and can reckon
single-handed with Society when she has done it. Nothing more.

Was there hope in what others might do for her? Blanche might write to
her--might even come and see her--if her husband allowed it; and that
was all. Sir Patrick had pressed her hand at parting, and had told her
to rely on him. He was the firmest, the truest of friends. But what
could he do? There were outrages which her husband was privileged to
commit, under the sanction of marriage, at the bare thought of which her
blood ran cold. Could Sir Patrick protect her? Absurd! Law and Society
armed her husband with his conjugal rights. Law and Society had but one
answer to give, if she appealed to them--You are his wife.

No hope in herself; no hope in her friends; no hope any where on earth.
Nothing to be done but to wait for the end--with faith in the Divine
Mercy; with faith in the better world.

She took out of her trunk a little book of Prayers and Meditations--worn
with much use--which had once belonged to her mother. She sat by the
window reading it. Now and then she looked up from it--thinking. The
parallel between her mother