With a theatrical flourish he whipped off slouched hat, flowing beard and wig, dropped the disguising cloak, and stood before her revealed—­Dr. Guy Oleander!

She gave one gasping cry, no more.  She stood looking at him as if turning to stone, her face marble white—­awfully rigid—­her eyes starting from their sockets.  The man’s face was lighted with a sinister, triumphant glow.

“Look long, Mollie,” he said, exultantly, “and look well.  You see your husband for the first time.”

And then Mollie caught her gasping breath at the taunt, and the blood rushed in a dark, red torrent of rage and shame to her fair face.

“Never!” she cried, raising her arm aloft—­“never, so help me Heaven!  I will sit in this prison and starve to death!  I will throw myself out of yonder window into the black, boiling sea!  I would be torn to pieces by wild horses!  I will die ten thousand deaths, but I will never, never, never be wife of yours, Guy Oleander!”

Her voice rose to a shriek—­hysterical, frenzied.  For the instant she felt as though she were going mad, and she looked it, and the man recoiled before her.

“Mollie!” he gasped, in consternation.

The girl stamped her foot on the floor.

“Don’t call me Mollie:”  she screamed, passionately.  “Don’t dare to speak to me, to look at me, to come near me!  I have heard of women murdering men, and if I had a loaded pistol this moment, God help you, Doctor Oleander!”

She looked like a mad thing—­like a crazed pythoness.  Her wild, fair hair fell loose about her; her blue eyes blazed steely flame; her face was crimson with the intensity of her rage, and shame, and despair, from forehead to chin.

“Go!” she cried, fiercely, “you snake, you coward, you felon, you abductor of feeble girls, you poisoner!  Yes, you poison the very air I breathe!  Go, or, by all that is holy, I will spring at your throat and strangle you with my bare hands!”

“Good Heaven!” exclaimed the petrified doctor, retreating precipitately, “what a little devil it is!  Mollie, Mollie, for pity’s sake—­”

Another furious stamp, a spring like a wild cat toward him, and the aghast doctor was at the door.

“There, there, there, Mollie!  I’m going.  By Jove! what a little fiend you are!  I didn’t think you would take it like this.  I—­Great powers!  Yes, I’m going!”

He flew out, closing the door with a bang.  Then he opened it an inch and peeped in.

“I’ll come again to-morrow, Mollie.  Try, for goodness’ sake, to calm yourself in the meantime.  Yes, yes, yes, I’m going!”

For, with a shriek of madness, she made a spring at him, and the doctor just managed to slam the door and turn the key before her little, wiry hands were upon his throat.

“Great Heaven!” Dr. Oleander cried to himself, pale and aghast, wiping the cold perspiration off his face; “was ever such a mad creature born on the earth before?  She looked like a little yellow-haired demon, glaring upon me with those blazing eyes.  Little tiger-cat!  I told them she was a raving lunatic, and, by George! she’s going to prove me a prophet.  It’s enough to make a man’s blood run cold.”