The floor is exceedingly dilapidated, and the ceiling below warped and sieve-like; and, having reached the chink in the floor, Siebel finds himself able to look directly down upon Leslie as she stands near the table.
In another moment Nance is beside him, and then the two faces are glued to the floor, their eyes taking in the scene below, their ears listening greedily.
At first they listen with simple curiosity; then with astonished interest; then with intense satisfaction at Papa’s evident discomfiture, for they hate him as the slave ever hates his tyrant.
When the veil falls from Leslie’s head, Siebel’s quick eye is the first to catch the shine of the diamonds in her ears. He stifles an exclamation, looks again, and then grasps the arm of his confederate:
“Nance,” he whispers eagerly, “Nance, look—in her ears.”
The girl peers down, and fairly gasps.
“Shiners!” she whispers; “ah, they make my eyes water!”
“They make my fingers itch,” he returns; “d’ye twig, gal?”
“Eh?”
Drawing her away from the aperture, he says, in a hoarse whisper: