“Oh, sister! A man fearful to look at. A great rough fellow, ugly enough to frighten any one. I’ve met him several times when out walking, and every time it’s made me shudder.”
“Has he been rude to you?”
“Not exactly rude, though something like it. He stares at me in a strange way. And such horrid eyes! They’re hollow, gowlish like an alligator’s. I’d half a mind to tell father, or Luis, about it; but I know Luis would go wild, and want to kill the big brute. I saw him just now, standing on the side-walk close by. No doubt he’s there still.”
“Let me have a look at those alligator eyes.”
The fearless elder sister, defiant from very despair, steps out to the rail, and leaning over, looks along the street.
She sees men passing; but no one who answers to the description given.
There is one standing under a tree, but not in the place of which Jessie has spoken; he is on the opposite side of the street. Neither is he a man of large size, but rather short and slight. He is in shadow, however, and she cannot be sure of this.
At the moment he moves off, and his gait attracts her attention; then his figure, and, finally, his face, as the last comes under the lamp-light. They attract and fix it, sending a cold shiver through her frame.
It was a fancy her thinking she saw Charles Clancy among the tree-tops. Is it a like delusion, that now shows her his assassin in the streets of Natchitoches? No; it cannot be! It is a reality; assuredly the man moving off is Richard Darke!
She has it on her tongue to cry “murderer!” and raise a “hue and cry;” but cannot. She feels paralysed, fascinated; and stands speechless, not stirring, scarce breathing.