Her voice was sharp with anxiety. Her soft eyes turned a startled gaze on that grim face, which looked to her like that of a fiend. “Oh! of course, why not? he looks like you, don’t he? Of course, who doubts it?” mocked the woman. “Go away, go away, beggar-woman,” cried the child, clinging to his mother’s neck with one arm, and clenching his right hand with puny courage. “Don’t look at my mamma so. Don’t speak to her. Go away, or I’ll, I’ll—yes, I will—so there now!” Here the little hero burst into tears, and hid his face upon his mother’s shoulder. “What do you want, woman?” inquired the young matron, rising with the boy in her arms. “If you wish to see the gentleman of the house, he is engaged. I do not live here. Let me pass.” “Let me have another look at the darling, just a peep into his eyes, I’m so fond of children,” said the woman, with wheedling softness, that was far more disgusting than her rudeness had been. “I want him to know me, bless his pretty face!” “Let me pass!” insisted the widow, beginning to feel terrified, “I do not wish him to look at you.” “Oh! that’s cruel now, and the boy so like his father!” “So like his father! Did you know him, then?” “I did not know your husband; but I did know this child’s father,” was the answer. “No! you did not—you could not. The thing is quite impossible. No one ever knew him.” The old woman laughed. “I must have another look,” she said, attempting to seize upon the child, who uttered a sudden cry. Presently a form came leaping through the hall, uttering a shriek with every bound. Her hair streamed backward, her eyes blazed, her arms were outstretched. She rushed forward, like a bird of prey with its spoil in sight. Her hands fell with a clutch upon that meagre woman, shaking her in every limb as they seized upon her shoulders. “Ha! ha! I have found you at last,” cried she, “touch him, touch him, oh! touch him, and I’ll—” Elsie paused a moment, and stealing both hands slowly from the shoulders to the throat of the old woman, clutched it, turning her head backward and saying to Catharine, “May I? shall I? She has grown into a fiend; let me choke her.” She pleaded for permission to kill that woman as a mother pleads for the life of a child. The insane lustre of her eyes grew brighter, her pale hands quivered eagerly about the lean throat upon which they had not yet firmly closed. She was pleading for permission to kill the woman as if she had been a serpent. Catharine came up, terrified but firm. Her clear blue eyes were fixed steadily on those of the maniac, her slender form erected itself into command. “Come,” she said, “leave this woman; she belongs to God.” “Why don’t he kill her then?” hissed the maniac, striving to evade Catharine’s glance. “Because he is, perhaps, punishing her with life.” “But it would be so pleasant to kill her!” pleaded Elsie, “and I will. Nobody gives me any happiness. I will take it for myself.”