The two women—the dark and shrivelled old Hecate, and the pale, cold Proserpine—now brought in the supper. And as the elfin hostess had declared, a more luxurious meal did not grace the table of the State's Governor that day. There were green-turtle soup, rock fish, ham, wild turkey, and partridges, with every variety of vegetables and of condiments. And there were pies, puddings, custards, and pastries of every description. And jellies, jams, and fresh and preserved fruits, of every sort. And there were priceless wines, and fragrant coffee and tea. All these luxuries were placed at once upon the supper table, or a side table in full view of the company.
"We have no printed bill of fare," laughed Sybil's strange hostess; "but the fare itself is before you!"
"Let the lady be seated in the place of honor," growled Moloch, glowering at Sybil with his dreadful eyes.
"Which means the piano stool, I suppose," said the strange hostess, taking Sybil by the hand, and leading her to the seat in question.
She suffered herself to be put into it; but the next instant she was horrified by the insolence of Moloch, who deliberately arose from his seat and came around and placed himself beside her, and laid his great hand upon her shoulder.
"You are handsome," he said "Do you know it? But of course you do. The swells have told you so a many times."
"Don't touch me!" said Sybil, shrinking from him.
"Now don't put on airs. You're one of us, you know, and so we'll 'fend you to the last drop of blood in our weins. Only don't put on airs; but be kind to them as are kind to you," growled the brute.
"But take your hand away—please do. I cannot bear it!" cried Sybil, shrinking farther off still.
"Why, now, if you only knowed what this here hand have done in your sarvice, you'd fondle on to it, instead o' flinging it off like it was a wasp," coaxed the ruffian, stealing his arm around her neck.