Having reached the mossy level of the vanished pond,—a place which seemed as though Nature herself had designed it with a view to his present intention,—Old Flick assumed a less friendly air towards his captive. A psychologist interested in searching out the obscure workings of derelict and submerged souls, would have come to the speedy conclusion as he watched the old man’s cadaverous face that the spirit which at present animated his corpse-like body was one that had little commiseration or compunction in it.
The young Dolores had not, it seemed, to deal at this moment with an ordinary human scoundrel, but with a faded image of humanity galvanized into life by some conscienceless Larva.
In proportion as this unearthly obsession grew upon Old Flick, his natural countenance grew more and more dilapidated and withered. Innumerable years seemed suddenly added to the burden he already carried. The lines of his face assumed a hideous and Egyptian immobility; only his eyes, as he turned them upon his companion, were no longer colourless.
“Doll,” said he, “now thee must try thee’s steps, or ’twill be the worse for thee!”
The girl only answered by flinging herself down on her knees before him, and pouring forth unintelligible supplications.
“No more o’ this,” cried the old man; “no more o’ this! I’ve got to learn ’ee to dance,—and learn ’ee to dance I will. Ye’ll have to go on them boards come noon, whether ’ee will or no!”
The child only clasped her hands more tightly together, and renewed her pleading.
It would have needed the genius of some supreme painter, and of such a painter in an hour of sheer insanity, to have done justice to the extraordinary expression that crossed the countenance of Old Flick at that moment. The outlines of his face seemed to waver and decompose. None but an artist who had, like the insatiable Leonardo, followed the very dead into their forlorn dissolution, could have indicated the setting of his eyes; and his eyes themselves, madness alone could have depicted.
With a sudden vicious jerk the old man snatched the shawl from the girl’s shoulders, flung it on the ground, and seizing her by the wrists pulled her up upon her feet.
“Dance, ye baggage!” he cried hoarsely;—“dance, I tell ’ee!”