His tones seemed strangely natural. They were not brutal. But she shivered and paused, horrified at the thought of what she was about to do. Her father was in that room—and Stephen. She must keep them there, and get this man away. She must not show fright before him, and yet she could not trust her voice to speak just then. She must not let him know that she was afraid of him—this she kept repeating to herself. But how to act? Suddenly an idea flashed upon her.
Virginia never knew how she gathered the courage to pass him, even swiftly, and turn up the gas. He started back, blinking as the jet flared. For a moment she stood beside it, with her head high; confronting him and striving to steady herself for speech.
“Why have you come here?” she said. “Judge Whipple—died—to-night.”
The dominating note in his answer was a whine, as if, in spite of himself, he were awed.
“I ain't here to see the Judge.”
She was pale, and quite motionless. And she faltered now. She felt her lips moving, but knew not whether the words had come.
“What do you mean?”
He gained confidence. The look in his little eyes was the filmy look of those of an animal feasting.
“I came here to see you,” he said, “—you.” She was staring at him now, in horror. “And if you don't give me what I want, I cal'late to see some one else—in there,” said Mr. Hopper.
He smiled, for she was swaying, her lids half closed. By a supreme effort she conquered her terror and looked at him. The look was in his eyes still, intensified now.