She could hear his grave, low tones.

"Think of me as in fairy-land." That tender, compassionate message had a barbed point which pierced deeper even than the duke's words.
Her lover and her husband seemed to have conspired together to revenge themselves upon her.
Fay leaned her pretty head against the window-sill and sobbed convulsively.
Poor little soul in prison, weeping behind the bars of her cell, that only her own hands could open! Were not Fay and Michael both prisoners, fast bound: she in misery, he only in iron.
The door opened gently and Magdalen came in in a long white wrapper, with a candle in her hand.
She put down the candle and came towards Fay.

She did not speak.

Her face quivered a little.

She bent over the huddled figure in the window seat, and with a great tenderness drew it into her arms.