With all his force Mark thrust himself against the stout oak. The hinges yielded at last.
CHAPTER IV
Beatrice woke to the knowledge of her own utter misery. Contrary to her anticipation, she had slept very soundly all night, much as condemned criminals are supposed to do on the eve of execution. She felt well and vigorous in herself, a brilliant sunshine was pouring into her room, and all around her lay evidences of her coming slavery. Here were the bridal veil and the long train, there were the jewels laid out on the dressing table. A maid was moving quietly about the room.
"Good morning, miss," she said. "A lovely morning. And if there's any truth in the saying that 'happy's the bride that the sun shines on,' why——"
The maid stopped and smiled before she caught sight of Beatrice's pale, set face.
"I suppose you think I am to be envied?" Beatrice asked. "Now don't you?"
The maid lifted her hands to express her dumb admiration. "Who would not be happy to be dressed in those lovely clothes, to be decked in those jewels and to marry a man who will give you everything that the heart could desire?" Beatrice smiled wearily.
"You are quite wrong, Adeline," she said. "If I could change places with you at this moment I would gladly do so. You have a sweetheart, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes, miss. He's in a shop. Some day he hopes to have a shop of his own, and then——"