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Never once glancing at the small mirror that seemed
to invite her charms to reflect themselves therein, she went to the
quaint latticed window and knelt down by it, folding her arms on the
sill while she looked far out to the Fjord. She could see the English
flag fluttering from the masts of the _Eulalie_; she could almost hear
the steady plash of the oars wielded by Errington and his friends as
they rowed themselves back to the yacht. Bright tears filled her eyes,
and brimmed over, falling warmly on her folded hands.
"Would I care if you suffered?" she whispered. "Oh, my love! . . . my
love!"
Then, as if afraid lest the very winds should have heard her
half-breathed exclamation, she shut her window in haste, and a hot blush
crimsoned her cheeks.
Undressing quickly, she slipped into her little white bed and, closing
her eyes, fancied she slept, though her sleep was but a waking dream of
love in which all bright hopes reached their utmost fulfillment, and yet
were in some strange way crossed with shadows which she had no power to
disperse.


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