Bewildered with terror, the poor iron-merchant threw himself at the feet of Rougemont, who, eyeing him with a look of malignant triumph, cried—
"You have come to seek your daughter. Behold her!"
And at the words, the large black curtains at the farther end of the room were suddenly withdrawn, and discovered the figure of Ebba Thorneycroft standing at the foot of the marble staircase. Her features were as pale as death; her limbs rigid and motionless; but her eyes blazed with preternatural light. On beholding her, Mr. Thorneycroft uttered a loud cry, and, springing to his feet, would have rushed towards her, but he was held back by the two masked attendants, who seized each arm, and detained him by main force.
"Ebba!" he cried—"Ebba!"
But she appeared wholly insensible to his cries, and remained in the same attitude, with her eyes turned away from him.
"What ails her?" cried the agonised father. "Ebba! Ebba!"
"Call louder," said Rougemont, with a jeering laugh.
"Do you not know me? do you not hear me?" shrieked Mr. Thorneycroft.
Still the figure remained immovable.
"I told you you should see her," replied Rougemont, in a taunting tone; "but she is beyond your reach."