XXVII. — THE BAG OF LIGHT
Rebekah, having excused herself from three ladies, her guests, alone in her room opened her letter.
Glanced first at the “R. H.”, and was not surprised. He had “escaped”, had “come into great power”: that seemed natural; but he “summoned” her to meet him, and she saw no connection between his “great power” and his right to summon her.
She held the paper to a fire, and, as it began to burn, in a panic of flurry extinguished the edge, and hustled it into her bosom; then perambulated; then fell to a chair-edge with staring gaze; then, rocking her head which she had dropped upon a little table, moaned: “He is mad....”
“My flames of fire! Rebekah! I am dying....”
He suffered; and a pussy's wail mewed from her; but with a gasp of anger which said “Ho!” she sprang straight, and went ranging, with a stamping gait, through the chamber, filling it with passion. “I won't go!” she went with fixed lips, as something within her whispered: “You must”.
To escape herself, she went again to see what had happened with regard to the convict, whose face would carry to the grave the scars of her nails.
There were no signs of any disturbance; and she asked a footman: “Where is the man who was here?”
“With your father in the study”.