“Madame, in the name of Heaven, what mean you?” exclaimed Lady Leaton, in vague alarm.
The voice of the princess sank to its deepest tones, as she answered:
“The deadly upas-tree of the Indies suffers nothing to live in its dread neighborhood. If you could transplant such a tree from an Indian plain to a fair English park, as it should grow and thrive, all beautiful life would wither under its poisonous breath, until nothing should remain but a blasted desert, and the deadly upas-tree should be all in all! Lady Leaton, beware of the young Indian sapling transplanted to your fair English park!”
“Madame, you frighten me!” exclaimed Lady Leaton.
“No; I only mean to warn you! I spoke from an irresistible impulse. And having spoken, I have no more to say but to bid you good-night,” said the Italian, lifting the hand of Lady Leaton to her lips, and then withdrawing, and leaving her ladyship plunged in deep thought.
CHAPTER II.
HORRIBLE SUSPICIONS.
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements.—Shakspeare.
The beautiful Asiatic girl soon won her way into every heart in the household. No one could meet the soft, appealing gaze of her large, dark, Oriental eyes, or hear the plaintive tones of her low, deep, sweet voice, without feeling powerfully drawn towards her. No one could be with her long without seeing that the angel form was tenanted by an angel spirit, too.