He was more weary than he knew, and ere he was aware he fell asleep--a restless, wretched sleep, that made him glad when the half-oblivion was over.

Christine, however, was apparently at rest, and he soon relapsed into the same dark, haunted state of unconsciousness.
Suddenly he began to mutter and moan, and then to speak with a hoarse, whispered rapidity that had in it something frightful and unearthly.
But Christine listened with wide-open eyes, and heard with sickening terror the whole wicked plot.

It fell from his half-open lips over and over in every detail; and over and over he laughed low and terribly at the coming shame of the hated Donald.
She had not walked alone for weeks, nor indeed been out of her room for months, but she must go now; and she never doubted her strength.
As if she had been a spirit, she slipped out of bed, walked rapidly and noiselessly into the long-unfamiliar parlor.

A rushlight was burning, and the key of the old desk was always in it.

Nothing valuable was kept there, and people unacquainted with the secret of the hidden drawer would have looked in vain for the entrance to it.
Christine had known it for years, but her wifely honor had held it more sacred than locks or keys could have done.