CHAPTER XIX.
CLAUDIA'S TROUBLES AND PERILS.
Like love in a worldly breast
Alone in my lady's chamber
The lamp burns low, suppressed
'Mid satins of broidered amber
Where she lies, sore distressed.
My lady here alone
May think till her heart is broken
Of the love that is dead and done,
Of the day that with no token
For evermore hath gone.
—Owen Meredith.
All day long Claudia lay abed within her darkened chamber, It was a scene of magnificence, luxury, and repose. Scarcely a ray of light stole through the folds of the golden-brown curtains of window and bed. No sound broke the stillness of the air, except the dull, monotonous thunder of the sea upon the rocks below. This at length soothed her nervous excitement and lulled her to repose.
She slept until the evening, and awoke comparatively free from pain.
Her first thought on waking was of the housekeeper, and her first feeling was the desire to see the old creature, and if possible make a friend of her.
Ah! but it was bitterly galling to Lady Vincent's pride to be obliged to stoop to the degradation of questioning a servant concerning the domestic affairs of her own husband's family! But she felt that her life and honor were imperiled, and that she must use such means for her safety as circumstances offered. Mrs. Murdock impressed her as being an honest, truthful, and trustworthy woman. And Claudia wished to discover, by what should seem casual conversation with her, how much or how little truth there might be in Lord Vincent's representations of Mrs. Dugald's position in the family.
She put out her hand and rang the bell that hung just within her reach.
Katie answered it.