The man's hands were shaking; once more his eyes went longingly toward the cupboard.
“He has made—a doll,” he said, “carved it out of a piece of wood and dressed it in oddments from his ties. Mathers showed it to me as a joke. Elizabeth, it was wonderful—horrible!”
“Why?” she asked him.
“It is you,” he continued, moistening his lips with his tongue, “you, in a blue gown—your favorite shade. He has even made blue stockings and strange little shoes. He has got some hair from somewhere and parted it just like yours.”
“It sounds very touching,” she remarked.
The man was shivering again.
“Elizabeth,” he said, “I do not think that he means it kindly. Mathers took me up into his room. He has made something there which looks like a scaffold. The doll was hanging by a piece of string from the gallows. Elizabeth!—my God, but it was like you!” he cried, suddenly dropping his head upon his arms.
For a moment, a reflection of the terror which had seized him flashed in her own face. It passed quickly away. She laughed mockingly.
“My dear father,” she protested, “you are certainly not yourself this morning.”
“I saw you swinging,” he muttered, “swinging by that piece of cord! There was a great black pin through your heart. Elizabeth, if he should get away sometime! If some one should come over from America and discover where he was! If he should find us out! Oh, my God, if he should find us out!”