The very thought seemed to stab her to the heart with a keen, subtle pain which she could neither understand nor clearly define, even to herself.
"Heaven pity her in the hour when she finds that she has been deceived—that he married her for gold, not love," she sobbed, covering her face with her little trembling hands.
She prayed to Heaven silently that Claire's lover, whoever he might be, was marrying her for love, and for love alone.
So restless was she that, despite the quieting draught which the housekeeper had induced her to swallow, she could not sleep.
But one thing remained for her to do, and that was to get up and dress and go down to her father's library and read herself into forgetfulness until day dawned.
Faynie acted upon the impulse, noting as she stepped from her room into the corridor that the clock on her mantel chimed the hour of two.
She had proceeded scarcely half a dozen steps ere she became aware that she was not alone in the corridor.
She stopped short.
The time was when Faynie would have shrieked aloud or swooned from terror; but she had gone through so many thrilling scenes during the last few weeks of her eventful young life that fear within her breast had quite died out.
Was it only her wild, fanciful imagination, or did she hear the sound of low breathing? Faynie stood quite still, leaning behind a marble Flora, and listened.