Torn from her lover, betrayed by her cousin and her grandfather into the power of the man she hated, hers was indeed a terrible fate. No wonder that her gentle nature was almost frenzied by the shock, and that she felt a mad, guilty longing to take the life of the man who had come so fatally between her and happiness.
“I could kill him if I only had a weapon, and rejoice in my crime. Oh, they have changed me into a fiend!” she cried, wildly.
Her loathing eyes wandered about the beautiful room that her hated husband had prepared for her, and she shuddered in disgust, hating it all with sickening horror.
Yet how differently she would have viewed it had it been as Cecil Grant’s bride she had come to this place.
The beautiful rooms would have charmed her then, in her happiness with the one she adored.
But Harold Castello’s bride! Oh, the limitless anguish and horror of that awful thought!
“His from the dainty foot’s slight tip
Up to the crimson of the lip—
His from the halo of the hair
To the white hand’s magic in the air!