They parted, and Doris passed into her own room. According to her usual custom, she locked the door and took out the key.
The first room was her sleeping-room. She did not wait there; it was empty. She had told Eugenie, her maid, not to wait for her on that evening, as she might be late. Then came the bath and dressing-room; they also were empty, although both were brilliantly lighted. She reached the boudoir, fitted for her with such taste and luxury. The lamps were lighted, and there, on the chair where Mattie and she had so carefully placed it, lay the beautiful wedding costume. There could be no mistaking it; the veil was thrown over the dress, and the wreath of orange blossoms lay on the veil. She looked at them for some minutes in silence, thinking of the Miriam who was burned on the night of her wedding-day.
Then she opened the book and began to read. How useless it was—the letters swam before her eyes. It was her wedding-day to-morrow; after to-morrow all her cares and troubles would be over; after to-morrow all would be peace.
She lay down upon the little couch, with a long, low sigh. It was wonderful how tired and wearied she felt. She had suffered such a fever, such a torture of suspense, that the reaction of feeling that she was in perfect safety at last was too much for her. There came a fever of unrest upon her, her heart beat with terrible rapidity, her hands were like fire, her eyes and lips seemed to burn as though they had been touched by flame; she had not known until now how much she had suffered. Then she pictured Lord Vivianne coming on the twentieth and finding her married—married and gone far out of his reach! How he would rage! It would serve him right. He might tell his story then. Who would believe him? They would all think it the bitter exaggeration of a disappointed man.
Then the room seemed to grow warm, the perfume of the flowers overpowering.
"I wish," she thought, "that I had not let Eugenie go; I feel nervous and lonely to-night."
She half-debated within herself whether she should go back to Mattie or not. The sense of being thought cowardly deterred her.
There lay the moonlight, so calm, so still, so bright, streaming through the open window.
"I will go down into the grounds," she said to herself; "a walk there will refresh me, and I shall be able to rest."
She took out her watch and looked at it; it was nearly midnight.