"Hi, there, Vijal!"

Vijal looked carelessly at him.

"Here!" cried John, in the tone with which he would have addressed his dog.

Vijal stopped carelessly.

"Pick up my hat, and hand it to me."

His hat had fallen down behind him. Vijal stood without moving, and regarded him with an evil smile.

"D--n you, do you hear?" cried John. "Pick up my hat."

But Vijal did not move.

"If you don't, I'll set the dog on you," cried John, starting to his feet in a rage.

Still Vijal remained motionless.

"Nero!" cried John, furiously, pointing to Vijal, "seize him, Sir."

The dog sprang up and at once leaped upon Vijal. Vijal warded off the a.s.sault with his arm. The dog seized it, and held on, as was his nature.

Vijal did not utter a cry, but seizing the dog, he threw him on his back, and flinging himself upon him, fixed his own teeth in the dog's throat.

John burst into a torrent of the most frightful curses. He ordered Vijal to let go of the dog. Vijal did not move; but while the dog's teeth were fixed in his arm, his own were still fixed as tenaciously in the throat of the dog.

John sprang forward and kicked him with frightful violence. He leaped on him and stamped on him. At last, Vijal drew a knife from his girdle and made a dash at John. This frightened John, who fell back cursing. Vijal then raised his head.

The dog lay motionless. He was dead. Vijal sat down, his arm running blood, with the knife in his hand, still glaring at John.

During this frightful scene I stood rooted to the spot in horror. At last the sight of Vijal's suffering roused me. I rushed forward, and tearing the scarf from my neck, knelt down and reached out my hand to stanch the blood.

Vijal drew back. "Poor Vijal," said I, "let me stop this blood. I can dress wounds. How you suffer!"

He looked at me in bewilderment. Surprise at hearing a kind word in this house of horror seemed to deprive him of speech. Pa.s.sively he let me take his arm, and I bound it up as well as I could.

All this time John stood cursing, first me, and then Vijal. I said not a word, and Vijal did not seem to hear him, but sat regarding me with his fiery black eyes. When at last I had finished, he rose and still stood staring at me. I walked into the house.

John hurled a torrent of imprecations after me. The last words that I heard were the same as he had said once before. "You've got to be took down; and I'll be d--d if you don't get took down precious soon!"

I told Mrs. Compton of what had happened. As usual, she was seized with terror. She looked at me with a glance of fearful apprehension. At last she gasped out:

"They'll kill you."

"Let them," said I, carelessly; "it would be better than living."

"Oh dear!" groaned the poor old thing, and sank sobbing in a chair. I did what I could to soothe her, but to little purpose. She afterward told me that Vijal had escaped further punishment in spite of John's threats, and hinted that they were half afraid of him.

The next day, on attempting to go out, Philips told me that I was not to be permitted to leave the house. I considered it the result of John's threat, and yielded without a word.

After this I had to seek distraction from my thoughts within the house.

Now there came over me a great longing for music. Once, when in the drawing-room on that famous evening of the abortive fete, which was the only time I ever was there, I had noticed a magnificent grand piano of most costly workmanship. The thought of this came to my mind, and an unconquerable desire to try it arose. So I went down and began to play.

It was a little out of tune, but the tone was marvelously full and sweet. I threw myself with indescribable delight into the charm of the hour. All the old joy which music once used to bring came back.

Imagination, stimulated by the swelling harmonies, transported me far away from this prison-house and its hateful a.s.sociations to that happier time of youth when not a thought of sorrow came over me. I lost myself therein. Then that pa.s.sed, that life vanished, and the sea-voyage began.

The thoughts of my mind and the emotions of my heart pa.s.sed down to the quivering chords and trembled into life and sound.

I do not know how long I had been playing when suddenly I heard a sob behind me. I started and turned. It was Philips.

He was standing with tears in his eyes and a rapt expression on his emaciated face, his hands hanging listless, and his whole air that of one who had lost all senses save that of hearing. But as I turned and stopped, the spell that bound him was broken. He sighed and looked at me earnestly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I STOOD LOOKING AT HIM WITH A GAZE SO FIXED AND INTENSE THAT IT SEEMED AS IF ALL MY BEING WERE CENTERED IN MY EYES."]

"Can you sing?"

"Would you like me to do so?"

"Yes," he said, in a faint imploring voice.

I began a low song--a strain a.s.sociated with that same childhood of which I had just been thinking--a low, sad strain, sweet to my ears and to my soul; it spoke of peace and innocence, quiet home joys, and calm delights. My own mind brought before me the image of the house where I had lived, with the shadow of great trees around, and gorgeous flowers every where, where the sultry air breathed soft, and beneath the hot noon all men sank to rest and slumber.

When I stopped I turned again. Philips had not changed his att.i.tude. But as I turned he uttered an exclamation and tore out his watch.

"Oh, Heavens!--two hours!" he exclaimed. "He'll kill me for this."

With these words he rushed out of the room.

I kept up my music for about ten days, when one day it was stopped forever. I was in the middle of a piece when I heard heavy footsteps behind me. I turned and saw my father. I rose and looked at him with an effort to be respectful. It was lost on him, however. He did not glance at me.

"I came up to say to you," said he, after a little hesitation, "that I can't stand this infernal squall and clatter any longer. So in future you just shut up."

He turned and left me. I closed the piano forever, and went to my room.

The year ended, and a new year began. January pa.s.sed away. My melancholy began to affect my health. I scarcely ever slept at night, and to eat was difficult. I hoped that I was going to die. Alas! death will not come when one calls. One day I was in my room lying on the couch when Mrs. Compton came. On entering she looked terrified about something. She spoke in a very agitated voice: "They want you down stairs."

"Who?"

"Mr. Potts and John."

"Well," said I, and I prepared to get ready.

"When do they want me?"

"Now," said Mrs. Compton, who by this time was crying.

"Why are you so agitated?" I asked.

"I am afraid for you."