The particulars of her engagement were very clear in her memory. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. I wonder. ’ ‘His daughter, ma’am?’ Gerald asked. Dieu du ciel, but where was Gerald? On the move again, she found herself standing before one of the mirrors, gazing into her own countenance without seeing it.
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