"Sir, do you really mean it?"
"Of course, I mean it. Where is she?"
In answer the old lady went to the door and called to someone in the hall.
"Come in, dearie. It's all right. Come in, do'ee now, that's a little dear."
But the girl made no sign of entering, and at last the old woman had to go out and draw her in. And then—but I hardly know how to write it. How shall I give a proper description of the—thing that entered.
She—if she it could be called—was about three feet high, dressed in a shapeless print costume. Her hair stood and hung in a tangled mass on her head, her eyes were too large for her face, and a great patch of beard grew on one cheek, descending almost to a level with her chin. Her features were all awry, and now and again she uttered little moans that were more like those of a wild beast than of a human being. In spite of the old woman's endeavours to make her do so, she would not venture from her side, but stood slobbering and moaning in the half dark of the doorway.
It was a ghastly sight, and one that nearly turned me sick with loathing. But the worst part of it all was the inhuman merriment of her father.
"There, there!" he cried; "had ever man such a lovely daughter? Isn't she a beauty? Isn't she fit to be a prince's bride? Isn't she fit to be the heiress of all this place? Won't the young dukes be asking her hand in marriage? Oh, you beauty! You—but there, take her away—take her away, I say, before I do her a mischief."
The words had no sooner left his mouth than the old woman seized her charge and bundled her out of the room, moaning as before. I can tell you there was
