She was amazed that she should have been able to sleep soundly after
her emotional ordeal, until she remembered that when at last Don Carlos
had desisted in his attempt to make her surrender herself voluntarily
and had left her, Madre Dolores had reappeared and insisted upon her
drinking something out of a glass. The "something" was a sweet and
pungent cordial, which probably contained some soporific drug.

When the mists of sleep cleared away completely from her mind, Myra
found it difficult to analyse her feelings, but her predominant emotion
was resentment against the man who had made love to her so lawlessly
and had almost imposed his will on her.

Mingled with her resentment was something akin to fear, the haunting
dread that her ordeal of the previous night might be a prelude to
something worse. The hot flush of shame stained her fair face again as
she realised she had been on the very verge of surrendering herself.

"I hate him! I hate him!" Myra told herself as she dressed. "I'll
kill myself rather than confess I love him, and let him gloat over his
conquest.... What should I do? Should I promise to marry him on
condition that he takes me back to-day, and then denounce him to the
authorities when we reach the Castle? That would be something like
treachery, but it was treachery on his part to kidnap me while I was
his guest.... I shall wait and see how he behaves before deciding."