A Greek Gift

Julia, left alone, and locked in the room, passed such a night as a girl
instructed in the world's ways might have been expected to pass in her
position, and after the rough treatment of the afternoon. The room grew
dark, the dismal garden and weedy pool that closed the prospect faded
from sight; and still as she crouched by the barred window, or listened
breathless at the door, all that part of the house lay silent. Not a
sound of life came to the ear.

By turns she resented and welcomed this. At one time, pacing the floor
in a fit of rage and indignation, she was ready to dash herself against
the door, or scream and scream and scream until some one came to her. At
another the recollection of Pomeroy's sneering smile, of his insolent
grasp, revived to chill and terrify her; and she hid in the darkest
corner, hugged the solitude, and, scarcely daring to breathe, prayed
that the silence might endure for ever.

But the hours in the dark room were long and cold; and at times the
fever of rage and fear left her in the chill. Of this came another phase
through which she passed, as the night wore on and nothing happened. Her
thoughts reverted to him who should have been her protector, but had
become her betrayer--and by his treachery had plunged her into this
misery; and on a sudden a doubt of his guilt flashed into her mind and
blinded her by its brilliance. Had she done him an injustice? Had the
abduction been, after all, concerted not by him but by Mr. Thomasson and
his confederates? The setting down near Pomeroy's gate, the reception at
his house, the rough, hasty suit paid to her--were these all parts of a
drama cunningly arranged to mystify her? And was he innocent? Was he
still her lover, true, faithful, almost her husband?