"Oh, that word regret! There have been nights and morns when we have sighed 'Let us alone, Regret! We are content To throw thee all our past, so thou wilt sleep For aye.' But it is patient, and it wakes! It hath not learned to cry itself to sleep, But plaineth on the bed that it is hard." Dizzy with passionate love and happiness, she rested in his arms a moment, then drew herself shyly away. "It grows late. Indeed, I must leave you now," she whispered. "It is late and you are weary," he said, tenderly. "I must send you to your rest, my precious one, but for me I shall sit here all night rejoicing over my sweet, new happiness." They had heard no step in the hall, but at that moment the door swung open and Mrs. Merivale appeared on the threshold in an exquisite dressing-gown, her loosened golden hair flying over her shoulders. She gazed in dismay for an instant, then started backward with a quick smile of scorn. "Pardon! I could not sleep, and came for a book. I did not dream of interrupting such an interesting midnight _tête-à-tête_," she said, sneeringly. St. Leon drew his arm gently around the slight form of his betrothed, an ominous gleam in his eyes. "Congratulate us, Mrs. Merivale," he said, "Miss Gordon has promised to be my wife." The snaky fire of hate flashed in greenish sparkles from the eyes of the disappointed woman. "With all my heart. May you be as happy as you deserve," she answered, scornfully. Then, turning to go, she bent swiftly toward Laurel Vane and whispered in her ear with the hissing tone of hate: "You have triumphed over me--you have come between us, but do not forget that '_Who breaks--pays!_'" "An omen," Laurel sighed to herself. He was loath to let her go when the jealous, angry woman had disappeared. The pale, frightened face touched his heart. He made her tell him what Maud Merivale had hissed in her ear. "A mere idle threat," he said. "She can do you no harm, Beatrix. You are too secure in your high position as Mr. Gordon's daughter and my promised wife for her hate to touch you. As the mistress of Eden you will be socially her superior, for old Midas Merivale made his millions in trade, and the Le Roys have inherited their wealth from several generations of blue-blooded ancestors. Indeed, we trace our origin from the French nobility." Everything he told her only frightened her worse. She trembled at her presumption in entering this family which prided itself less on its great wealth than on its noble pedigree. She silently recalled some verses she had read that evening: "I knew that every victory, But lifted you away from me; That every step of high emprise But left me lowlier in your eyes; I watched the distance as it grew, And loved you better than you knew!" "He counts his ancestors back to the French nobility, while I do not know what my grandfather's name was," said Louis Vane's daughter to herself.