Octavia walked over to the table, upon which stood Miss Belinda's work-basket, and took therefrom a small and gleaming pair of scissors, returning to the mantle-glass with them.
"How short shall I cut it?" she demanded.
"Oh!" exclaimed Lucia, "don't, don't!"
For answer, Octavia raised the scissors, and gave a snip. It was a savage snip, and half the length and width of her love-locks fell on the mantle; then she gave another snip, and the other half fell.
Lucia scarcely dared to breathe.
For a moment Octavia stood gazing at herself, with pale face and dilated eyes. Then suddenly the folly of the deed she had done seemed to reveal itself to her.
"Oh!" she cried out. "Oh, how diabolical it looks!"
She turned upon Lucia.
"Why did you make me do it?" she exclaimed. "It's all your fault—every bit of it;" and, flinging the scissors to the other end of the room, she threw herself into a chair, and burst into tears.
Lucia's anguish of mind was almost more than she could bear. For at least three minutes she felt herself a criminal of the deepest dye; after the three minutes had elapsed, however, she began to reason, and called to mind the fact that she was failing as usual under her crisis.