CHAPTER XIV
THE UNMASKING
MISTRESS BARBARA reached her cabin door, free, save for that rebellious tear which the Frenchman had seen, of any outward mark of the turbulence of her emotions. But once within, and the key turned in the lock, she buried her face in her hands, her frame racked by hard, dry sobs which filled her throat and overwhelmed her. Fearful that the sounds might reach the ears of him who had caused them, she clenched her teeth upon her kerchief, wrapped her cloak closely about her neck and face, and threw herself upon the bench in an agony of mortification. God help her! Had it all been in vain? She had sought the man, she had found him, and he had repulsed her unkindly, even cruelly, as though she had been a foolish child or a dotard—a person unworthy of consideration. Was this the one she had known
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