As Florence Harper left the room in which the singular and exciting interview described in the last chapter took place, and fled in strange alarm from the house, the girl who had admitted her came gliding in with her noiseless step from the adjoining apartment, and, standing before the woman, who yet remained in a partially ecstatic condition, said,—
“Oh, mother! This is dreadful!—dreadful!”
“What are you saying, child? What is dreadful? I see beautiful visions, and hear music of angelic sweetness. I see nothing dreadful. Give me your hands, Adele dear.”
And she reached forth her small hands, so white and thin as to be semi-transparent. But the girl stepped back a single pace, eluding the offered grasp.
“Why don’t you give me your hands, child?” The woman spoke with some impatience.
“Because I would rather keep them in my own possession just now,” replied Adele, in a low, clear tone, the slight quiver in which showed a disturbed state of feeling.
“You are perverse,” said the woman. “The spirits must be consulted. There are evil influences at work.”
“They are at work in that Mrs. Fordham, if, as this young lady says, she has stolen a child!” Adele made answer, speaking firmly. “I never liked her. She’s wicked!”
“Adele!”
“I believe it, mother.” The girl was resolute. “She tried to get me in her power; but I was able to resist her, thank God!”