“Yes, my lady,” answered the girl, who immediately went to the small room adjoining her mistress’ chamber, where she usually sat by day and slept by night.

The countess could only sleep in perfect darkness; so when Phoebe had put out all the lights she took advantage of that darkness to leave her door open, so that she could listen if her mistress was restless or wakeful.  The maid soon discovered that her mistress was wakeful and restless.

The countess could not sleep for contemplating her project of the morning.  According to her Jewish ideas, the motherless son of her husband was as much hers as though she had brought him into the world.  And thus she, poor, unloved and childless wife, was delighted with the son that she thought had dropped from heaven into her arms.

That anyone should venture to raise the slightest objection to her taking possession of her own son never entered the mind of Berenice.  She imagined that even Mrs. Brudenell, who had treated the mother with the utmost scorn and contumely, must turn to the son with satisfaction and desire.

In cautioning Phoebe to secrecy she had not done so in dread of opposition from any quarter, but with the design of giving Mrs. Brudenell a pleasant surprise.

She intended to go out in the morning as if for a drive, to go to the hut, take possession of the boy, bring him home and lay him in his grandmother’s lap.  And she anticipated for her reward her child’s affection, her husband’s love, and her mother’s cordial approval.

Full of excitement from these thoughts, Berenice could not sleep; but tossed from side to side in her bed like one suffering from pain or fever.

Her faithful attendant, who had loved her mistress well enough to leave home and country and follow her across the seas to the Western World, lay awake anxiously listening to her restless motions until near morning, when, overcome by watching, she fell asleep.

The maid, who had been the first to close her eyes, was the first to open them.  Remembering her mistress’ order to be called at eight o’clock, she sprang out of bed and looked at her watch.  To her consternation she found that it was half-past nine.

She flew to her mistress’ room and threw open the blinds, letting in a flood of morning light.

And then she went to the bedside and drew back the curtains and looked upon the face of the sleeper.  Such a pale, sad, worn-looking face! with the full lips closed, the long black lashes lying on the waxen cheeks, the slender black brows slightly contracted, and the long purplish black hair flowing down each side and resting upon the swelling bosom; her arms were thrown up over the pillow, and her hands clasped over her head.  This attitude added to the utter sadness and weariness of her aspect.

Phoebe slowly shook her head, murmuring: