I went to my room, but could not sleep. Shortly after half-past two o'clock I crawled noiselessly down to the library-door and looked in. Mr. Higgins still sat before the fire in the same thoughtful position. "Poor little beast!" I heard him murmur softly to himself—"poor little beast!"
CHAPTER III.
Let the reader transport himself to a small stone cottage on the Hudson, and he will behold me as I was at the age of twenty-one. I had reached that acme of woman's career when common sense is to her as nothing, and the world with all its follies bursts upon her ravished ears with ten-fold succulence. My grandfather had been dead some fifty years, and I was even thinking of him, when the door opened, and Mr. Higgins entered. I felt my heart palpitate, and was about to quit the room, when he cast a searching glance at me, and said:
"Well, girl—are you as big a fool as ever?"
I hung my head, for the tell-tale blush would bloom.
"Come," said Mr. Higgins, "don't speak like a donkey. I'm no priestly confessor. Curse the priests! Curse the world! Curse everybody! Curse everything!" And he placed his feet upon the mantel-piece, and gazed meditatively into the fire.
I could hear the beatings of my own heart, and all the warmth of my nature went forth to meet this sublime embodiment of human majesty; yet I dared not speak.
After a short silence, Mr. Higgins took a chew of tobacco, and placing his hand on my shoulder, exclaimed:
"Why should I deceive you, girl? Last night I poisoned my only remaining sister because she would have wed a circus-keeper, and scarcely an hour ago I lost two millions at faro. Your priests would say this was wrong—hey?"
I stifled my sobs and said, as calmly as I could: