"Both; if love is an angel, and hate a fiend."
"And, what can you expect from this?"
"Nothing!"
"Nothing! This is not true, Zillah!"
"Is it hoping much, when I only wish to be a slave again?"
"My poor Zillah; and did you, indeed, care for me so much?"
The woman fell down upon her knees, buried her face between both hands, and burst into a passion of tears.
The General was annoyed; there was something too much like a scene in the attitude and tears of his former slave. He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a glance of cynical impatience. She caught the look, as her hands fell apart; and the hot blood that rushed over her face seemed to burn up her tears. She broke into a smile, and arose, sweeping a hand across her eyes fiercely, as if to punish them for weeping.
"There, there, I will go now. It is a long time since I have been so foolish."
General Harrington smiled; the flush of her face and the brilliant mist which tears had left in her eyes, reminded him of past years, when he had, from mere wantonness, provoked those passionate outbursts, in order to kindle up the beauty of her face.