"Terrible," I jested. "I suppose you would have poisoned your slaves, like the old Roman Empress--What was her name?" "I was angry enough." "And, instead, you gave the cat milk in place of cream, or did some such awful act of cruelty." "Not at all. I did nothing. I only burned inwardly and consumed myself." "And pray, what was the offence that called forth such wrath, and who was the wretch who committed the crime?" "I had sufficient provocation." "Of course." "No, I mean really----" "What?" "Why, it was a piece that appeared in one of the morning papers, a vile scurrilous sheet that had always attacked my father covertly; but this was the first open attack, and it was simply a huge lie. And it has been repeated again and again. Why, only the other day the same paper republished it with huge headlines and charged that my father was the cause of all the trouble in the city--my father, who is the best, the kindest, the most charitable man I ever knew--who has almost beggared himself trying to furnish facilities to the poor! Oh, I can't bear it! I wish I had that man under my heel this minute! I would just grind him to powder! I would!" She turned, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks glowing with fervor, her face rigid with resolution, her white teeth shut together as if they were a trap to hold her enemy till death. "Give the cat milk! I could have poured molten metal down that man's throat--cheerfully--yes, cheerfully." It may be well believed that as she proceeded, the amusement died out of my face and mind. I turned the other way to keep her from seeing the change that must have come over me. I was thinking hard and I thought quickly, as, 'tis said, a drowning man thinks. Life and death both flashed before me--life in her presence, in the sunlight of those last weeks, and the shadow of perpetual banishment. But one thing was certain. I must act and at once. I turned to her and was almost driven from my determination by the smile in her eyes, the April sunlight after the brief storm. But I seized myself and took the leap. "I wrote that piece." She actually laughed. "Yes, I know you did." "I did--seriously, I wrote it; but----" I saw the horror oversweep her face. It blanched suddenly, like the pallor on a pool when a swift cloud covers the sun, and her hand went up to her bosom with a sudden gesture as of pain. "Oh!" she gasped. The next second she sprang up and sped away like a frightened deer.