unconsciously drew back. As he did so, the woman thrilled and looked up, but not at him. A lame child’s hesitating and uneven step was heard crossing the floor above, and it was towards it she turned, and for it she composed her whole form into a strange but evil calmness.
“Ah, he let you come then!” Mr. Sylvester heard her exclaim in a low smothered tone, whose attempted lightness did not hide the malevolent nature of her interest.
“Yes,” came back in the clear and confiding tones of childhood. “I told him you loved me and gave me candy-balls, and he let me come.”
A laugh quick and soon smothered, disturbed the surrounding gloom. “You told him I loved you! Well, that is good; I do love you; love you as I do my own eyes that I could crush, crush, forever having lingered on the face of my betrayer!”
The last phrase was muttered, and did not seem to convey