"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. The bare branches writhed and twisted in the storm, tapping weirdly against the window pane. The room grew warmer as the fire took hold of the logs in the grate, and with the heat the fumes of the brandy rose into his brain, and with it his color heightened, his cheeks and lips were flushed and his eyes scintillating. With unsteady hand he reached out for the flask again, uncorked it, and without taking the trouble to reach for the glass, placed the bottle to his lips and drained it to the dregs. "She is awaking," he muttered, with a maudlin laugh, and springing from his seat with unsteady steps, he crossed the room and stood by the couch, looking down eagerly into the beautiful white face upon the pillow. As if impelled by that steady, serpentine, fiery glance, the girl moaned uneasily. "Awaking at last!" he muttered, with a diabolical smile. At that moment Faynie's violet eyes opened wide and stared up into his face. CHAPTER VII. HE RAISED HIS CLINCHED HAND, AND THE BLOW FELL HEAVILY UPON THE BEAUTIFUL UPTURNED FACE. With returning consciousness, Faynie's violet eyes opened slowly--taking in, by the flickering light of the candle, the strange room in which she found herself; then, as they opened wider, in amazement too great for words, she beheld the figure of a man, half hidden among the shadows, standing but a few feet away from the couch, his eyes fastened upon her; she could even hear his nervous breathing. With a gasp of terror Faynie sprang from the couch with a single bound; but the cry she would have uttered was strangled upon her lips by the heavy hand that fell suddenly over them, pressing so tightly against them as to almost take her breath away. "Don't attempt to scream or make any fuss," cried a hissing voice in her ear--"submit to the inevitable--you are my wife--there is nothing out of the way in your being here with me. Come, now, take matters philosophically and we shall get along all right."