She looked like some beautiful, inspired prophetess as she faced him with a lifted hand that seemed to menace him with evil.
Her golden hair had become loosened from its fastenings and streamed over her shoulders, gleaming around her lovely pallid features like a halo of light.
For a moment Harold Colville quailed before her with something like fear of that dread tribunal with whose vengeance she threatened him.
His heart sank strangely within him, while hers, for the moment, thrilled with a presentiment of coming deliverance.
Surely if "coming events cast their shadows before," both the guilty Harold Colville and the wronged Lily Lawrence were gifted with a momentary prescience of that which was hastening to them in the near future.
Doctor Pratt saw the subtle shadow settling over Colville's pale features, and arose hastily.
"Come, come, Miss Lawrence," he said harshly. "These tragedy airs would be very fine on the stage, but they are out of place here. Spare yourself so much unnecessary exertion; you will most certainly become Mr. Colville's wife to-morrow. Instead of this useless defiance let me advise you to cultivate a spirit of meekness and submission. It is useless to threaten us with the punishment of God. We do not believe in Him!"
She was walking restlessly up and down the floor, and made him no answer, save one scathing flash from her brilliant eyes. He turned away with a laugh of derision.
"Come, Colville, let us go," he said. "Other matters demand our attention now. We must arrange matters with Dr. Heath before we go."
Colville paused at the door and looked at the young girl restlessly pacing the floor.