He started back almost in terror, as he ceased; for standing by his side, with her eyes fairly blazing upon him with a wild, intense gaze, was the elfish Gipsy. She looked so like some golden sprite—so small and dark, with such an insufferable light in her burning eyes—that he actually shrank in superstitious terror from her.
Without a word, she glided away, and joined Archie in the corner, who was doing his best to cheer and amuse the timid Celeste.
During the rest of the evening, Gipsy was unusually silent and still; and her little face would at times wear a puzzled, thoughtful look, all unused to it.
"What in the world's got into you, Gipsy?" asked Archie, at length, in surprise. "What are you looking so solemn about?"
"Archie," she said, looking up solemnly in his face, "am I possessed?"
"Possessed! Why, yes, I should say you were—possessed by the very spirit of mischief!"
"Oh, Archie, it's not that. Don't you know it tells in the Bible about people being possessed with demons? Now, Archie, do you think I am?"
"What a question! No; of course not, you little goose. Why?"
"Because when he," pointing to the doctor, "said what he did, I just felt as if something within me was forcing me to catch him by the throat and kill him. And, Archie, I could hardly keep from doing it; and I do believe I'm possessed."
This answer seemed to Master Archie so comical that he went off into another roar of laughter; and in the midst of it, he rolled off his seat upon the floor—which event added to his paroxysm of delight.