The light was gray when Tamara awoke, though the lamp still burned--
more than three parts of the window was darkened by snow--only a peep
of daylight flickered in at the top.

Where was she! What had happened? Something ghastly--but what?

Then she perceived her torn blouse, and with a terrible pang
remembrance came back to her.

She started up, and as she did so realized she was only in her
stockinged feet.

For a moment she staggered a little and then fell back on the couch.

The awful certainty--or so it seemed to her--of what had occurred came
upon her, Gritzko had won--she was utterly disgraced.

The whole training of her youth thundered at her. Of all sins, none had
been thought so great as this which had happened to her.

She was an outcast. She was no better than poor Mary Gibson whom Aunt
Clara had with harshness turned from her house.

She--a lady!--a proud English lady! She covered her face with her
hands. What had her anguish of mind been before, when compared with
this! She had suffered hurt to her pride the day after he had kissed
her, but now that seemed as nothing balanced with such hideous
disgrace.

She moaned and rocked herself to and fro. Wild thoughts came--where was
the pistol? She would end her life.

She looked everywhere, but it was gone.

Presently she crouched down in a corner like a cowed dog, too utterly
overcome with shame and despair to move.