"Georgia! Georgia!" he said, "what in Mercy's name were you thinking of when you drew that?"

She laughed.

"Don't you like it, Mr. Wildair?" she said.

"Like it! You're a goblin! a kelpie! a witch! an unearthly changeling!

or you would never have conjured up that blood-chilling face. Why, you have been painting portraits! Did you know it?"

"I did not when I commenced--I found I had when they were done."

"And life-like portraits they are, too. That kneeling girl is Emily Murray, though her sweet face never wore that look of wild horror you have pictured there. And that other ghastly, agonized countenance, that seems rent by a thousand fiends, is--"

"Myself."

"Oh, Georgia! what spirit possessed you to paint that awful face?"

"How do I know? The spirit of prophecy, perhaps," she said, in a tone of dark gloom.

"Georgia Darrell, do you know what you deserve?"

"No, sir."

"Then I shall tell you. You ought to be locked in an attic, and fed on bread and water for a month, to cool the fever in your blood."

"Thank you; I would rather be excused. And now I come to think of it, it _couldn't_ have been the spirit of prophecy either that inspired me, for your brother Charles once told me that I would never be drowned."

"No? How did he know it?"

"He said a more elevated destiny awaited me--hanging."

"What if he turns out a true prophet?"

"I shall not be surprised."

"You will not?"

"Most certainly not. They hang people for murder, don't they?"

"Well?"

"Well!" she repeated, mimicking his tone, "I expect to be the death of somebody one of these days."

He knew she spoke lightly, yet suddenly there rushed to his mind the recollection of the conversation he had once held with his brother, in which he compared her to Lady Macbeth, and declared his belief in her capability of committing that far-famed lady's crime. Strange that it should come back to him so vividly and painfully then.

"Well, signor," said the clear, musical voice of Georgia, breaking in upon his reverie, "of what is your serene highness thinking so intently?

Do you fear you are to be the future victim?"

"Georgia!"

"I listen, mynheer."

"Suppose you loved somebody very much--"

"A mighty absurd supposition to begin with. I never intend to do any such thing."

"Now, Georgia, be serious. Suppose you loved some one with all your heart, if you possess such an article, you flinty female anaconda, and they professed to love you, and afterward deceived you, what would you do?"

"Do!" her face darkened, her eyes blazed, her lips sprung quivering apart, her hands clenched; "do! I should BLAST them with my vengeance; I would live for revenge, I would _die_ for revenge! I would track them over the world like a sleuth-hound. I would defy even death by the power of my own will until I had wreaked this doom on their devoted head.

Deceive me! Safer would it be to tamper with the lightning's chain than with the heart that beats here."

She struck her breast and rose to her feet _transformed_! The terrific look that had started him in the pictured face, flamed up in her living one now, and she stood like a young Medusa, ready to blight all on whom her dark, scorching glance might rest.

He stood appalled before her. Was she acting, or was this storm of pa.s.sion real? It was a relief to him to see one of his own servants approaching at that moment with a letter in his hand. The presence of a third person restored Georgia to herself, and, leaning against a tree, she looked darkly over the smiling, shining waters.

"From Charley!" was Richmond's joyful exclamation, as he glanced at the superscription of the letter and dismissed the man who brought it. "It is nearly six months since he wrote last, and we were all getting seriously uneasy about him. Will you excuse me while I read it, Georgia?"

Georgia bent her head in token of acquiescence, and taking up another piece of paper, began carelessly drawing a scaffold, with herself hanging, to horrify her companion. So absorbed did she become in her task, that she did not observe the long silence of her companion, until suddenly lifting her eyes, she beheld a startling sight.

With the letter clutched with a death-grip in his hand, his face livid, his brow corrugated, his eyes fixed, his whole form rigid and motionless, he sat with his eyes riveted on that fatal letter.

In all her life Georgia had never seen the calm, self-sustained Richmond Wildair moved, and now--oh, this was awful! She sprang to his side and caught his arm, crying out:

"Richmond! Richmond! oh, Richmond! what is the matter?"

He lifted his eyes with a hollow groan.

"Oh, Georgia!"

"Richmond! oh, Richmond! is Charley dead?"

"Dead? No! Would he were!" he said, with pa.s.sionate bitterness.

"Oh, Richmond, this is terrible! What has your brother--"

"Brother! it is false!" he exclaimed, fiercely, springing to his feet; "he is no brother of mine!"

"Good gracious! Richmond, what has he done?"

"Done!" he repeated, furiously: "he has disgraced himself, disgraced us all--done what I will never forgive."

It was the first time Georgia had ever heard him utter such language. As a gentleman, he was not in the habit of staining his lips with expletives, and now even _her_ strong nature shrank, and she shuddered.

"Oh, what has Charley done? What _can_ he have done? He so frank, so kind, so warm-hearted? Oh he cannot have committed a crime! It is impossible," cried Georgia, vehemently.

"It is _not_ impossible!--lost, fallen, degraded wretch! Oh, mercy! that I should have lived to see this day! Oh, who--who shall tell my mother this?"

"Richmond, be calm--I implore you. Tell me what he has done?"