“Yes!” she exclaimed unconsciously.
“I hear! I obey! Yet speak again. Repeat the lesson. I must learn it every syllable, so that I shall not mistake—so that I can not fail!”
“Who are you talking to, Margaret?” asked the mother anxiously.
“Do you not see them, where they go? There—through the doors; the open windows—wrapped in shadows, with great wings at their shoulders, each carrying a dart in his bony grasp.”
“Lord, have mercy! She's losing her senses again!” and the mother was about to rush from the apartment to seek assistance; but with the action, the daughter suddenly arose, wearing a look of singular calmness, and motioning to the child, she said:—
“Will you not dress it for the grave?”
“I'm going about it now. The poor lovely little creature. The innocent little blossom. We must put it in white, Margaret—virgin white—and put white flowers in its little hands and on its breast, and under its head. Oh! it will look so sweet in its little coffin!”
“God! I should go mad with all this!” exclaimed the daughter, “were it not for that work which is before me! I must be calm for that-calm and stern! I must not hear—I must not think—not feel—lest I forget myself, and the deed which I have to do. That oath—that oath! It is sworn! It is registered in heaven, by the fatal angel of remorse, and wrath, and vengeance!”
And again, a whisper at her ears repeated:—
“For this, Margaret, and for this only, must thou live”.