My uncle stared strangely at me again; and after several horrible seconds,
in which he seemed to have recovered himself, he said, sternly and coolly--
'You give too much place to your imagination, niece. Your spirits are in an
odd state--you ought to have advice.'
'Oh, uncle, pity me! Oh, uncle, you are good! you're kind; you're kind
when you think. You could not--you could not--could not! Oh, think of your
brother that was always so good to you! He sees me here. He sees us both.
Oh, save me, uncle--save me!--and I'll give up everything to you. I'll pray
to God to bless you--I'll never forget your goodness and mercy. But don't
keep me in doubt. If I'm to go, oh, for God's sake, shoot me now!'
'You were always odd, niece; I begin to fear you are insane,' he replied,
in the same stern icy tone.
'Oh, uncle--oh!--am I? Am I _mad_?'
'I hope not; but you'll conduct yourself like a sane person if you wish to
enjoy the privileges of one.'
Then, with his finger pointing at me, he turned to Madame, and said, in a
tone of suppressed ferocity--
'What's the meaning of this?--why is she here?'
Madame was gabbling volubly, but to me it was only a shrilly noise.
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