Myra went to bed, but it was a long time before she could compose
herself to woo sleep, so full was her mind of disturbing thoughts, so
many problems did she find herself called on to solve.

"Does he love me?" That was the question that she put to herself time
and again, and could not answer. "Do I love him?" was another. And at
heart she knew that if she were certain that the answer to the first
question was in the affirmative, she could answer the second in a like
manner.

"What will it profit me if I denounce him?" she soliloquised. "He says
he is at my mercy, but he can claim me, and boast that I offered to
marry him, even if I do revenge myself by denouncing him. Always he
seems to have the advantage of me. To save my 'honour' now, and
satisfy Aunt Clarissa, I shall either have to humble myself to ask him
to marry me publicly, or else forgive Tony. Either course is
repugnant."

She fell asleep at last, but was wrestling with her problem even in her
jumbled dreams. She woke with a start, and with the impression strong
upon her that someone or something had touched her face and her breast.
Scared, she groped for the electric switch and flashed on the light
above the bed, and as she did so she remembered having awakened months
previously at Auchinleven just in the same sort of fright, to find Don
Carlos's note on her pillow.