“Good heavens!” exclaimed Woodward, “what is the matter with Miss Goodwin?  I am sincerely sorry to see this.  Is not her health good?”

“Pray, sir,” replied her father, “how did you come to obtrude yourself here at such a moment of domestic distress?”

“Why, my dear sir,” replied Woodward, “of course you must know that I was ignorant of all this.  The hall-door was open, as it generally is, so was the door of this room, and I came in accordingly, as I have been in the habit of doing, to pay my respects to the family.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Goodwin, “the hall-door is generally open, but it shall not be so in future.  Come out of the room, Mr. Woodward; your presence is not required here.”

“O, certainly,” replied Woodward, “I feel that; and I assure you I would not by any means have intruded had I known that Miss Goodwin was unwell.”

“She is unwell,” responded her father; “very unwell; unwell unto death, I fear.  And now, Mr. Woodward,” he proceeded, when they had reached the hall, “I beg to state peremptorily and decidedly that all intimacy and intercourse between you and our family must cease from this hour.  You visit here no more.”

“This is very strange language, Mr. Goodwin,” replied the other, “and I think, as between two gentlemen, I am entitled to an explanation.  I received the permission of yourself, your lady, and your daughter to visit here.  I am not conscious of having done anything unbecoming a gentleman, that could or ought to deprive me of a privilege which I looked upon as an honor.”

“Well, then,” replied her father, “look into your own conscience, and perhaps you will find the necessary explanation there.  I am master of my own house and my own motions, and now I beg you instantly to withdraw, and to consider this your last visit here.”

“May I not be permitted to call to-morrow to inquire after Miss Goodwin’s health?”

“Assuredly not.”

“Nor to send a messenger?”

“By no means; and now, sir, withdraw; I must go in to my daughter, till I see what can be done for her, or whether anything can or not.”

Harry Woodward looked upon him steadily for a time, and the old man felt as if his very strength was becoming relaxed; a sense of faintness and terror came over him, and, as Woodward took his departure in silence, the father of Alice began to abandon all hopes of her recovery.  He himself felt the effects of the mysterious gaze which Woodward had fastened on him, and entered the room, conscious of the fatal power of the Evil Eye.

Fit after fit succeeded each other for the space of, at least, an hour and a half, after which they ceased, but left her in such a state of weakness and terror that she might be said, at that moment, to hover between life and death.  She was carried in her distracted father’s arms to bed, and after they had composed her as well as they could, her father said,—­