‘Death! death!’ was my whispered answer, as I froze with terror where I stood.

‘What does she mean?—­what does all this mean?’ said Uncle Silas, recovering wonderfully, and turning with a withering sneer on Madame.  ’Do you think it right to disobey my plain directions, and let her run about the house at this hour?’

‘Death! death!  Oh, pray to God for you and me!’ I whispered in the same dreadful tones.

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.  My whole soul was concentrated in my uncle, the arbiter of my life, before whom I stood in the wildest agony of supplication.

That night was dreadful.  The people I saw dizzily, made of smoke or shining vapour, smiling or frowning, I could have passed my hand through them.  They were evil spirits.

‘There’s no ill intended you; by ——­ there’s none,’ said my uncle, for the first time violently agitated.  ’Madame told you why we’ve changed your room.  You told her about the bailiffs, did not you? ’with a stamp of fury he demanded of Madame, whose nasal roullades of talk were running on like a accompaniment all the time.  She had told me indeed only a few hours since, and now it sounded to me like the echo of something heard a month ago or more.

’You can’t go about the house, d—­n it, with bailiffs in occupation.  There now—­there’s the whole thing.  Get to your room, Maud, and don’t vex me.  There’s a good girl.’

He was trying to smile as he spoke these last words, and, with quavering soft tones, to quiet me; but the old scowl was there, the smile was corpse-like and contorted, and the softness of his tones was more dreadful than another man’s ferocity.

’There, Madame, she’ll go quite gently, and you can call if you want help.  Don’t let it happen again.’