"And," continued Jewel, "I want you to stay with me always, Flower, and share my home and my wealth. You must take off these shabby clothes that," playfully, "looks as if they belonged to somebody's servant. Marie shall bring you one of my prettiest tea-gowns, and when we have had some tea you shall tell me where you have been all this while, the reason you ran away that night, and what became of your little child."
As if those words touched a subtle cord of memory, Flower flung off the arm that clasped her with sinuous softness, like a serpent's fold, and cried out, in a terrified voice:
"Not now, Jewel, for I have stayed too long already. I shall be missed; my—they will be alarmed at my long absence. I must go now, dear sister, but I—I will come again, or—I will write."
She rushed toward the door, but Jewel clung to her tightly, entreating her to stay.
"This is your home, your rightful home," she cried, desperately. "It is too dark and cold for you to go out now! At least stay to-night, and in the morning—"
She never finished the sentence, for Flower interrupted her, protesting that she could not, would not, must not stay. She would come again, but her mistress expected her now.
Jewel's arms began to tighten obstinately about Flower, and then, frightened and panting, the girl began to struggle frantically to get away.
It all passed in a minute. Jewel saw that her victim would escape her, for her frantic struggles began to tell, and she was dragging her foe with her toward the door. There was a marble-topped stand in their way, littered with costly trifles of bric-à-brac. Jewel flung out one hand, caught up something, she knew not what, and brought it down heavily on the golden head from which the close bonnet had fallen in the struggle.
There was one low, stifled moan, one only, then the struggling form relaxed its rigidity, the outstretched arms fell heavily, and in a minute more Jewel was standing still, looking at something lying very white and still upon the floor.