“Oh, you would like to know his name, wouldn’t you? But that is my secret; some day I will show you his face. He will come some day, but I can’t tell you his name, because Ross will not let me mention it. Ross is a great bald eagle, and I couldn’t kill him as I could kill a robin.”
“I am sure you would not kill your brother.”
“Hush, he ain’t my brother.”
“Yes he is, Bessie.”
“No, he is not. He thinks you are an angel, but you are only a robin, a poor, weak little robin, but you want to look out; I believed every word he said to me until I found out he lied, then everybody went mad; but I ain’t afraid of you, Miss Robin, if you are mad; but you see, I’ll have to hold you fast, Miss Robin—for, you know, you tried to kill me.”
She sprang like a tiger toward Blanche, and fastened her small fingers around her throat. Her eyes had almost 231 grown black in their fierce light, and a wild laugh rang out through the room, which was terrible to hear.
“You went to New York,” she screamed, “you went to meet him. He loves you, and he has forgotten all about the little dove; he loves the robin, and the dove will kill the robin.”
Blanche knew that to cope with a maniac, although she was a slender girl, required all her strength and presence of mind, and with one mighty effort she hurled Bessie from her, and placed her on the bed, holding both her hands firmly in her own. The wild laugh and the commotion attracted the attention of those below, and in a moment Ross stood in the doorway.
“Bessie.”
“Oh, Ross,” she said, as Blanche released her, “don’t lock me up, I’ll be good. I won’t kill the robin.”