Miss Tresilyan had taken unconsciously an attitude in which you saw her
once before, half-reclined, and gazing into the fire; outwardly still
remained the same pensive, languid grace; but very different was the
careless reverie that had stolen over her then, from the wild chaos of
conflicting thoughts that involved her now.
Her whole being was so bound up in Royston Keene's, that she felt
without him there would be nothing worth living for; neither had she the
faintest misgiving as to the chances of his inconstancy. There had
descended to her some of the stability and determination of purpose
which had made many of her race so powerful for good or evil; in the
pursuit of either they would never admit a doubt, or listen to a
compromise. When Cecil believed, she believed implicitly, and, not even
with her own conscience, made conditions of surrender. So long as _his_
strong arm was round her, she felt that she could defy shame, and even
remorse; but how would it be if that support should fail? He had not
been away yet twenty hours, and already there came creeping over her a
chilling sense of helplessness and desolation.
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