Then hiding his head in the folds of her raiment, he groaned aloud and seemed to swoon into silence.
Again, with an accession of frenzy, he started up and began striding to and fro, from end to end of the long room, uttering the most agonized self-reproaches, and calling down the most horrible maledictions upon his own head.
This terrible scene went on until at last the weeping child, her heart half broken with grief for her who was beyond suffering, and for him who still suffered, arose from her crouching position and dried her tears and tried to still her sobs, and went to the maddened man, as he raged up and down the floor, invoking imprecations on his own head.
She came behind him, pleading in her pitiful tones:
“Oh, uncle, do not curse yourself! Pray! The Lord is merciful!” And she put her little hand out to touch his.
Then he whirled around upon her like a furious wind, his eyes flashing lightnings of frenzy, his voice thundering:
“Avaunt! Begone! Let no innocent thing come near me!”
The child turned and fled and buried her face in the lap of Sophia, who was now seated by the dead body of her mistress.
“Let me take you to bed, little Glo’,” whispered the woman.
“No—no,” sobbed the aggrieved and terrified child. “No—no. I want to stay near him! I—I want to stay near him!”