But she remained at her window looking; out into the night. For two hours longer did she sit there, and then dropped into a feverish sleep, visited by happy, though broken, dreams.
She dreamed that she had dreamed her husband had committed a forgery, and that she awoke to find it but a dream: how great her joy, as she clasped him by the hand and told him all! and how his tender eyes bent down upon her as he said,—
"What! think that of me!"
And she awoke—awoke to find herself seated at the window—the dull winter morning struggling into obscure day—the snow heaped up on the window ledge, and covering everything without—and the crushing reality was once more threatening her!
CHAPTER XII.
THE GAMBLER'S END.
Set down, set down that sorrow, 't is all mine.
DECKAR.
Her candle was burnt out; the fire had only a few live embers which went out directly she attempted to revive it. She was numbed with cold; weary with grief; and threw herself upon the bed.
Sleep was impossible. A settled, though vague, conviction that Cecil would not return had taken possession of her mind. She fancied that he must have lost the money, and was now lying concealed for fear of the consequences of his crime.
As the morning fairly broke, she put on her things, and hurried to Captain Heath to ask his assistance and advice. He was at breakfast when she arrived, and her appearance so wan, and yet so strangely supernaturally calm, made him fear the worst.