The little fellow struggled violently in the strange arms that had seized upon him, and his eyes grew wild and large with terror. But the female bore him on, whispering to herself,—
“I have found him, I have found him. Let them take all the rest. He is mine, mine!”
She raised her voice and sped on, shouting, “Mine, mine!” Her long, iron-gray hair had fallen loose, and floated out upon the wind; a tragic joy sat upon her features, as the moonlight glanced over them; and between her words she laughed a clear, gleeful laugh of defiance, which the whippoorwill answered by his slow wail.
The boy grew still. Something in the face of his captor fascinated him. The breath was checked upon his parted lips as she bore him along.
As she approached the house, Elsie, for it was she, slackened her pace, and began to caress the child with a gentle sweetness that soon dispelled his terror. The words fell from her lips with a sort of charm. He began to wonder, rather than fear.
“Hush, now hush, don’t speak a word, little Georgie; don’t breathe loud, that’s a dear. There, there!”
She pressed his cheek to hers, whispering these cautions softly, and stole through the lilac and snow-ball thickets into the house.
She glided, with ghost-like stillness, through the hall, and through a long, dark passage, into the library. The shutters had been left open, and the room was filled with moonlight. It came through the bay-window in a silvery flood, leaving but few shadows, and lying full and broad upon the two pictures.
A great easy-chair stood in the centre of the room, and in this she placed the child, still holding both arms around him, while she crouched half upon her knees to the floor.
“See, see! the boy comes willingly; he wishes to come; he loves me, and will stay forever and ever. Oh! ha! smile and smile; you cannot get him away again; he is mine, I tell you, all mine!”