CHAPTER VII.
Mr.Ferrol slept in the large guest-chamber of the house.

Above it was Christine's bedroom.

Thick as were the timbers and boards of the floor, Christine could hear one sound, painfully monotonous and frequent, coming from his room the whole night--the hacking, rending cough which she had heard so often since he came.

The fear of Vanne Castine, the memories of the wild, half animal-like love she had had for him in the old days, the excitement of the new events which had come into her life; these kept her awake, and she tossed and turned in feverish unrest.
All that had happened since Ferrol had arrived, every word that he had spoken, every motion that he had made, every look of his face, she recalled vividly.

All that he was, which was different from the people she had known, she magnified, so that to her he had a distant, overwhelming sort of grandeur.