He laughed aloud.

In that moment he felt as rich as a king, and as diabolical as Satan himself.
He was nerved for any emergency; he was the girl's lord and master, her wedded husband.

She would be made to understand that fact with little ceremony.
He threw himself down in a chair, where he could watch her, and waited results, and each instant he sat there the fumes of the brandy rose higher and higher, until it reached his brain.
"There was a laughing devil in his sneer That woke emotions of both hate and fear; And where his scowl of fierceness darkly fell, Hope, withering, fled and mercy sighed farewell." Yes, a few short moments and consciousness would return to the girl--the stormy scene would begin.
Would the sharp eyes of love detect the difference between himself and Lester Armstrong, whom he was impersonating?
He knew every tone of his cousin's voice so perfectly that he would have little difficulty in imitating that.

The more closely he watched the girl, the more conscious he became of her wonderful beauty, and his heart gave a bound of triumph.
It was worth a struggle, after all, to have as beautiful a bride as she, even though she hated him.
"If I watch her much longer it will end by my being madly in love with her," he mused.

"I never could withstand a pretty face." The wild winds moaned like demons outside.