"The oratorio!" he continued: "the music! The words, here and there are queer--a little sinister--eh? There are better words and wilder music--you shall hear them some day! Saul had his evil spirit, and a bad family have theirs--ay, they have a demon who is always near, and shapes their lives for them; they don't know it, but, sooner or later justice catches them. Suppose _I_ am the demon of _your_ family--it is very funny, isn't it? I tried to serve you both, but it wouldn't do. I'll set about the other thing now: the evil genius of a bad family; I'm appointed to that. It almost makes me laugh--such cross-purposes! You're frightened? That's a pity; you should have thought of that before. It requires some nerve to fight a man like me. I don't threaten you, mind, but you are frightened. There is such a thing as getting a dangerous fellow bound over to keep the peace. Try that. I should like to have a talk with you before his worship in the police-court, across the table, with a corps of clever newspaper reporters sitting there. What fun in the _Times_ and all the rest next morning." It is plain to Miss Arden that Mr. Longcluse is speaking all this time with suppressed fury, and his countenance expresses a sort of smiling hatred that horrifies her. "I'm not bad at speaking my mind," he continues. "It is unfortunate that I am so well thought of and listened to in London. Yes, people mind what I say a good deal. I rather think they'll choose to believe _my_ story. But there's another way, if you don't like that. Your brother's not afraid--_he_'ll protect you. Tell your brother what a miscreant I am, and send him to me--do, pray! Nothing on earth I should like better than to have a talk with that young gentleman. Do pray, send him, I entreat. He'd like satisfaction--ha! ha!--and, by Heaven, I'll give it him! Tell him to get his pistols ready; he shall have his shop! Let him come to Boulogne, or where he likes--I'll stand it--and I don't think he'll need to pay his way back again. He'll stay in France; he'll not walk in at your hall-door, and call for luncheon, I promise you. Ha! ha! ha!" This pale man enjoys her terror cruelly. "I'm not worthy to speak to you, I believe--eh? That's odd, for the time isn't far off when you'll pray to God I may have mercy on you. You had no business to encourage me. I'm afraid the crowd is getting on very slowly, but I'll try to entertain you: you _are_ such a good listener!" Miss Arden often wondered afterwards at her own passiveness through all this. There were, no doubt, close by, many worthy citizens, fathers of families, who would have taken her for a few minutes under their protection with honest alacrity. But it was a fascination; her state was cataleptic: and she could no more escape than the bird that is throbbing in the gaze of a snake. The cold murmur went distinctly on and on: