“You’ll be sorry for that,” said he.
“Don’t speak to me,” said Phyl. “You are horrible—bad—wicked—I will tell Richard Pinckney.”
“Do,” said Silas. “Tell him also I’ll be even with him yet. You’re in love with him, that’s what’s the matter with you—well, wait.”
He turned on his heel and walked off. He did not look back once. As he vanished from sight Phyl clasped her hands together.
It was as though she had suddenly been shown the real Silas—or rather the something light and evil and dangerous, the something inscrutable and allied to insanity that inhabited his mind.
She was not thinking of herself, she was thinking of Richard Pinckney. She felt that she had been the unconscious means of releasing against him an evil force. A force that might injure or destroy him.
CHAPTER VII
She came out of the cemetery. There was no sign of Silas in the street nor on the front of the church.