Even when reiterating the terrible truth in which she evidently believed, Madame Gobelli showed no signs of breaking down, but stood firm, leaning heavily on her stick and trembling in every limb.
Harriet Brandt’s features had assumed a scared expression.
“Miss Wynward!” she stammered piteously, “Oh! Miss Wynward! this cannot be true!”
“Of course not! Of course not!” replied the other, soothingly, “her ladyship will regret that she has spoken so hastily to you to-morrow.”
“I shan’t regret it!” said the Baroness sturdily, “for it is the truth! Her father and her mother were murderers who were killed by their own servants in revenge for their atrocities, and they left their curse upon this girl—the curse of black blood and of the vampire’s blood which kills everything which it caresses. Look back over your past life,” she continued to Harriet, “and you’ll see that it’s the case! And if you don’t believe me, go and ask your friend Dr. Phillips, for ’e knew your infamous parents and the curse that lies upon you!”
“Madame! Madame!” cried Miss Wynward, “is this a moment for such recrimination? If all this were true, it is no fault of Miss Brandt’s! Think of what lies here, and that he loved her, and the thought will soften your feelings!”
“But it don’t!” exclaimed the Baroness, “when I look at my dead son, I could kill ’er, because she has killed ’im.”
And in effect, she advanced upon Harriet with so vengeful a look that the girl with a slight cry, darted from the room, and rushed into her own.
“For shame!” said Miss Wynward, whose previous fear of the Baroness seemed to have entirely evaporated, “how dare you intimidate an innocent woman in the very presence of Death?”
“Don’t you try to browbeat me!” replied the Baroness.