That floating wick in the glass of oil looked like the condensation of some of the phosphorescence of the sea, and in its light the jewels glittered; but it cast as well a boldly-thrown aquiline shadow on the chamber wall. Ching!
The jewels fell back into the casket as a gasp came from the bed, and the man saw the light of recognition in the eyes that glared in his as the old woman sat up, holding herself there with her supporting hands.
“Ah!” she cried. “You?”
The word “Help!”—a harsh, wild cry—was half formed, but only half, for in an instant she was dashed back, and the great down pillow pressed over her face.
The tide was going out fast.
Volume One—Chapter Five.
A Night to be Remembered.
There was a flush on Claire Denville’s cheek as she turned restlessly upon her pillow. Her dreams were of pain and trouble, and from time to time a sigh escaped her lips.