And truly she might exclaim, at beholding that deadly paleface—those wild, excited eyes—the disheveled golden hair—the blood-stained, and torn and disordered dress.
"Nothing! oh, nothing, nothing!" said Celeste, passing her hand slowly over her eyes, as if to clear away a mist, and speaking in a slow, bewildered tone.
"But, child, there is something the matter!" insisted Miss Hagar. "You look as though you were crazed, and your face is stained with blood."
"Is it? I had forgotten," said Celeste, pushing her hair vacantly off her wounded forehead. "It is nothing at all, though. I do not feel it."
"But how did it happen?"
"Oh!—why, I was frightened, and ran, and fell," said Celeste, scarcely knowing what she said.
"What was it frightened you?" pursued Miss Hagar, wondering at her strange manner.
Celeste, without reply, sank upon a seat and pressed her hands to her throbbing temples to collect her scattered thoughts. She felt sick and dizzy—unable to think and speak coherently. Her head ached with the intensity of her emotions; and her eyes felt dry and burning. Her brow was hot and feverish with such violent and unusual excitement. Her only idea was to get away—to be alone—that she might collect her wandering senses.
"Miss Hagar," she said, rising, "I cannot tell you what has happened. I must be alone to-night. To-morrow, perhaps, I will tell you all."
"Any time you please, child," said Miss Hagar, kindly. "Go to your room by all means. Good-night."