In her dream Xenie thought that she threw off her enemy's hand with scorn and loathing.
Then it seemed to her that he gathered her up in his arms and was about to cast her into the deep, terrible sea, when she awoke with a great start, and found herself struggling in the arms of her mother, who had lifted her out of the chair, and was saying, impatiently:
"Xenie, Xenie! child, wake up. You will get your death of cold sleeping out here in the damp night air, and the wind and moisture from the sea blowing over you."
Xenie shook herself free from her mother's grasp, and looked around her for her deadly foe, so real had seemed her dream.
But she saw no tall, proud, manly form, no handsome, blonde face gazing down upon her as she looked.
There was only the cold, white moonlight lying in silvery bars on the floor, and her mother still shaking her by the arm.
"Xenie, Xenie, wake up," she reiterated. "Here I have been shaking and shaking you, and all in vain. You slept like the dead."
"Mamma, I was dreaming," said Mrs. St. John, coming back to herself with a start. "What is the matter? What is the matter? Is my sister worse?"
Mrs. Carroll took her daughter's hand and drew her inside the hallway, then shut and locked the door.
"No, Xenie," she said, abruptly, "Lora is not worse—she is better. Are you awake? Do you know what I am saying? Lora has a beautiful son."