"I have been thinking—I will, at all events, begin to take steps to be free."
But to his rapturous, "My darling!" she replied, with lowered lids:
"It will take some time—and you may not like waiting—And when I am free—I do not know—only—I am tired, and I want someone to help me to forget and begin again. Good-night."
Then, after she got to her room, she opened the window wide, and looked out upon the quiet firs. But nothing stilled the unrest in her heart.
CHAPTER VIII
H éronac was basking in the sun of an August morning, like some huge sea monster which had clambered upon the wet rocks.
The sea was intensely blue without a ripple upon it, and only the smallest white line marked where its waters caressed the shore.
Nature slumbered in the heat and was silent, and Sabine Howard, the châtelaine of this quaint château, stood looking out of the deep windows in her great sitting-room. It was a wonderful room. She had collected dark panelling and tapestry to hide the grim stone walls, and had managed to buy a splendidly carved and painted roof, while her sense of color had run riot in beautiful silks for curtains. It was a remarkable achievement for one so young, and who had begun so ignorantly. Her mother's family had been decently enough bred, and her maternal grandfather had been a fair artist, and that remarkable American adaptability which she had inherited from her father had helped her in many ways. Her sitting-room at Héronac was, of course, not perfect; and to the trained eye of Henry Fordyce would present many anomalies; but no one could deny that it was a charming apartment, or that it was a glowing frame of rich tints for her youthful freshness.