“I hope all will go well.”
“All what?” he asked, roughly.
“All our plans.”
“Abel Newt was not born to fail,” he replied; “or at least General Belch said so.”
His companion had no knowledge of what Abel really meant to do. She only knew that he was capable of every thing, and as for herself, her little mask had fallen, and she did not even wish to pick it up again.
They sat together silently for a long time. He poured freely and drank deeply, and whiffed cigar after cigar nervously away. The few bells of the city tolled the hours. Ele had come during the evening and knocked at the door, but Abel did not let him in. He and his companion sat silently, and heard the few bells strike.
“Well, Kitty,” he said at last, thickly, and with glazing eye. “Well, my Princess of the Mediterranean. We shall be happy, hey? You’re not afraid even now, hey?”
“Oh, we shall be very happy,” she replied, in a low, wild tone, as if it were the night wind that moaned, and not a woman’s voice.
He looked at her for a few moments. He saw how entirely she was enthralled by him.
“I wonder if I care any thing about you?” he said at length, leering at her through the cigar-smoke.