“Raby was watching me, I could see, though his conversation was directed to Margaret. She had been talking about the new schools that Mrs. Grey proposed building at Pierrepoint.
“‘She wants to sell her house at South Kensington,’ she said; ‘she never means to live there again. It is a great pity, I tell her, for it is such a comfortable house and so beautifully furnished. But she will have it that she feels happier in her cottage; how good she is, Raby.’
“‘Yes, indeed, hers is almost a perfect character,’ he replied; ‘she is so strong and yet so womanly, so very, very gentle.’
“Something in Raby’s words touched too sensitive a chord, and after a vain attempt to control myself, I suddenly burst into hysterical tears, and left the room. They thought it was my strange temper, but I was only miserable that the enemy—my Philistine—was upon me, when he was only lurking in ambush for the time when my weakness would render me an easy prey.
“Let me go on quickly, for the remembrance of that day overpowers me. They never came near me. Raby always treated me himself at such times, and sometimes he would not allow Margaret to come to me; it was so now, and yet her dear face and sympathy might have saved me. I sobbed myself quiet, and then I lay on the couch in the morning-room, feeling strangely ill. I was faint and sick. I had eaten nothing, and I wanted food and wine, and to be hushed and comforted like a little child; and no one came near me. Of course not! they thought it was a fit of the old passion. No doubt Raby was in the village talking it over with Mona.
“It grew toward evening—cool quiet evening, but there was no quiet in my heart. I was burning with inward fever.
“I had had little sleep the night before, something odd and tumultuous seemed rising in my brain; a gleam of fair hair was blinding me. He loves fair women, I thought, and he calls me his dark-eyed Esther. Oh, Raby, I hate her! I hate her! You shall never marry her! You shall never call her your darling! I felt as though I should kill her first; for, indeed, I was nearly wild with passion, they had left me too long alone.
“Presently the door opened, and Raby came in. He looked very grave, I thought, as he sat down beside me. His quiet glance recalled me to myself.
“‘Crystal,’ he said, gently, ‘have you been ill again, my dear?’ They always called the paroxysms ‘illness’ now, but the word displeased me.
“‘Where is Margaret?’ I asked, sullenly. ‘I can not talk to you, Raby. I am weak, and you do not understand. If I am ill, as you say, you should not keep Margaret from me.’