The warm sunshine was flooding the tent when Hana awoke from the deep sleep of exhaustion that had been almost insensibility, awoke to immediate and complete remembrance. One quick, fearful glance around the big room assured her that she was alone. She sat up slowly, her eyes shadowy with pain, looking listlessly at the luxurious arrangement of the tent. She looked dry-eyed, she had no tears left. They had all been used-up when she had crawled at his feet imploring the mercy he had not granted her. She had fought until the unequal struggle had left her exhausted and helpless in his arms, until her whole body was one agonised ache from the brutal hands that forced her to compliance, until her courageous spirit was crushed by the realisation of her own powerlessness, and by the strange fear that the man himself had awakened in her, which had driven her at last moaning to her knees. And the recollection of her fervent prayers and weeping appeals filled her with a burning shame. She loathed herself with bitter contempt. Her courage had broken down; even her pride had failed her.
She wound her arms about her knees and hid her face against them. "Coward! Coward!" she whispered fiercely. Why had she not scorned him? Or why had she not suffered all that he had done to her in silence? It would have pleased him less than the frenzied pleading that had only provoked the soft laugh that made her shiver each time she heard it. She shivered now. "I thought I was brave," she murmured brokenly. "I am only a coward, a craven."
She lifted her head at last and looked around her. The room was a curious mixture of western luxury and eastern comfort. The lavish deluxe of the furnishings suggested subtly an unrestrained indulgence, the whole atmosphere was voluptuous, and Hana shrank from the impression it conveyed without exactly understanding the reason. There was nothing that's out-of-place, the rich hangings all harmonised, there were no glaring incongruities such as she had seen in native palaces in Water Country. And everything on which her eyes rested drove home relentlessly the hideous fact of her position. His things were everywhere. On a low, brass-topped table by the bed was the half-smoked cigarette he had had between his lips when he came to her. The pillow beside her still bore the impress of his head. She looked at it with a growing horror in her eyes until an uncontrollable shuddering seized her and she cowered down, smothering the cry that burst from her in the soft pillows and dragging the silken coverings up around her as if their thin shelter were a protection. She lived again through every moment of the past night until thought was unendurable, until she felt that she would go mad, until at last, worn out, she fell asleep.