It was Tige.
Helen was a brave girl. She had proved her courage when in the cellar beneath the house of McGinnis, when the cruel tide mounted higher and higher about her.
Yes, she was a brave girl.
There could be no question about that.
Yet she could not help cowering down in terror as she saw her tormentor entering the room—could not help shrinking down close to the bed, while cold chills crept up her spine, accompanied by a feeling as if she were telescoping into herself.
Tige paused.
As she stood and gloated over this unconscious action of Helen's, the fiendish woman gave utterance to a blood-chilling chuckle.
The sight of this fear that was manifested for her, was the highest compliment which Tige could be paid.
"Well, how does my deary feel after our last little picnic party?" inquired Tige, as she approached the bed, her face distorted by a horrible grimace.
Helen quivered from head to foot.