“Sit down,” said the girl, “and I will call my mother.” And she passed, with a gliding motion, noiselessly from the apartment.
The eyes of Florence soon accommodated themselves to the feeble light, and, gazing around the room, she noted its contents with curious interest. The furniture was meagre and plain, the carpets worn, and the window-curtains faded. A few articles, which seemed the relics of a better condition, indicated the possession of taste. While yet engaged in making these observations, Florence, whose eyes had been peering into the adjoining parlor, the shutters of which were closed tightly, turned her head and met the steady, penetrating gaze of a woman who had entered so silently that no sound of footfall had disturbed the air.
This woman was in height a little above the medium stature; of slender proportions; with an unusually high and broad forehead; faded, almost sallow, complexion; eyes black as coals, yet bright as fire; lips arching, thin, and flexible; and a delicate, receding chin. Florence arose, and stood before the woman in momentary confusion, her eyes drooping beneath her singularly penetrating gaze.
“Pardon this intrusion,” said Florence, with considerable hesitation of manner. “I am in search of a person who, as I am informed, came to your house some time within the past two weeks.”
The woman requested Florence to resume her seat, and then, drawing a chair in front of her, said, in a low, musical, yet not altogether pleasant voice,—
“What is the name of the person you are seeking?”
“Mrs. Jeckyl,” replied Florence.
The woman shook her head.
“She has gone by the name of Hawks, I believe,” said Florence.
Another shake of the head, accompanied by the remark,—