"Don't--don't leave me again, dear. Stay with me. I cannot bear it.
Oh, Mary, Mary, I must have been mad--I must have been mad."
"Hush, darling! Be calm; try and be calm."
"Calm! You do not know--you do not know. Stop!" she cried wildly, as
she saw Woodham cross gently towards the drawing-room door. "Don't
leave me. If you care for me now, pray stay."
"Claude, dear, this is terrible," said Mary firmly. "You are acting
like a child."
Claude sank upon her knees and buried her face in her cousin's dress.
"Don't think me cruel or unfeeling to you, but what can we do or say?
You are Mr Glyddyr's wife."
"Yes, I know," wailed Claude. Then, looking excitedly in her cousin's
face, "I did not know then. I was blind to it all. Mary, what have I
done? Tell me--that man--he has married me--for the fortune--tell him
to take all and set me free."
"My own darling cousin," whispered Mary, sinking upon her knees, to draw
Claude's face to her breast. "No, no, no; all that is impossible. This
fit will pass off, and you must be brave and strong. Try and think,
dear, of what you said. It was poor uncle's wish."
"Yes, yes, yes," said Claude wearily; and she struggled to her feet, to
throw herself into one of the lounges and sit wringing her hands
involuntarily, dragging at one finger until the little golden circle,
lately placed there, passed over the joint, and at last flew off, to
fall trinkling in the fender.
Claude uttered a faint cry, and covered her face with her hands, while
Woodham and Mary stood gazing at each other till the former crossed
softly and picked up the ring from where it lay.
"Claude, darling," said Mary, as, after a little hesitation, she took
the ring from Woodham, and gently drawing her cousins hand from her
face, began to slip the little token back into its place.
There was no resistance, only a helpless, dazed expression in Claude's
face, as she dropped her hand into her lap, and sat back gazing down at
her cousin's act, shuddering slightly, and then closing her eyes.
They drew back, watching her for some time, and at last Woodham crept
cautiously forward, peering anxiously into her mistress's face, watching
the regular rise and fall of her breast, and then gave Mary a satisfied
nod, as they stole very softly away to the far end of the room, and sat
down to watch.
"Exhausted, Miss Mary, asleep," whispered Woodham. "Oh, my dear, what
can we do?"
"Nothing," whispered back Mary bitterly; "only wait."
The wind increased, setting in more and more for one of the western
gales. The rain beat at the windows and the storm came in fierce
squalls, as if to tear down the unhappy house; but hours went by, and
Claude had not moved, remaining plunged in a kind of stupor more than
sleep.
And so the weary hours went on, broken only by the sound of an opening
or closing-door, and faintly heard voices which made the watchers start
and glance anxiously towards the door in anticipation of Glyddyr's
coming; but he did not leave the dining-room, and Trevithick remained
still in the library, where, through Woodham's forethought, refreshments
had been taken to him twice.
As the night closed in, a lamp was lit, and a screen drawn before the
table where it stood so as to leave the spot where Claude lay back in
darkness, and once more the watchers sat waiting.
It was about eight o'clock, when, after for the twentieth time stealing
across to her cousin's side, and returning, Mary placed her lips to
Woodham's ear.
"I am getting frightened at her state," she whispered; "surely we ought
to send over for the doctor."
"No, my dear," said Woodham sadly. "Let her rest. It will be better
than anything the doctor can do."
"Woodham," whispered Mary again, "it seems horrible to say, but I feel
as if I could poison that man and set her free."
Sarah Woodham's jaw dropped, and as she sank back, Mary could see that
her eyes were wide and staring.
"Sarah, you foolish woman, don't take what I say like that."