CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE RUNAWAY.
The fancy ball at Moscheloo was a brilliant affair. More brilliant perhaps than in the crush and mixed confusion of city society could have been achieved. It is a great thing to have room for display. There were people enough, not too many; and almost all of them knew their business. So there was good dressing and capital acting. The evening would have been a success, even without the charades on which Mme. Lasalle laid so much stress.
Dominoes were worn for the greater amusement; and of course curiosity was busy; but more than curiosity. In the incongruous fashion common to such entertainments, a handsome Turkish janissary drew up to a figure draped in dark serge and with her whole person enveloped in a shapeless mantle of the same, which was drawn over her head and face.
'I have been puzzling myself for the last quarter of an hour,' said he, 'to find out—not who—but what you are.'
'Been successful?' said the witch.
'I confess, no. Of course you will not tell me who you are; but I beg, who do you pretend to be?'
'O, pretend!' said the witch. 'I am "a woman that hath a familiar spirit!" '
'Where did you pick up your attendant?'
'Came at my call. I suppose you have heard of Endor?'