ess. In
the hearts of witches love and hate lie close together, and often tumble
over each other. And whether it was that her failure with Photogen
foiled also her plans in regard to Nycteris, or that her illness made
her yet more of a devil's wife, certainly Watho now got sick of the girl
too, and hated to have her about the castle.

She was not too ill, however, to go to poor Photogen's room and torment
him. She told him she hated him like a serpent, and hissed like one as
she said it, looking very sharp in the nose and chin, and flat in the
forehead. Photogen thought she meant to kill him, and hardly ventured to
take anything brought him. She ordered every ray of light to be shut out
of his room; but by means of this he got a little used to the darkness.
She would take one of his arrows, and now tickle him with the feather
end of it, now prick him with the point till the blood ran down. What
she meant finally I can not tell, but she brought Photogen speedily to
the determination of making his escape from the castle: what he should
do then he would think afterward. Who could tell but he might find his
mother somewhere beyond the forest! If it were not for the broad patches
of darkness that divided day from day, he would fear nothing!

But now, as he lay helpless in the dark, ever and anon would come
dawning through it the face of the lovely creature who on that first
awful night nursed him so sweetly: was he never to see her again? If she
was, as he had concluded, the nymph of the river, why had she not
re-appeared? She might have taught him not to fear the night, for
plainly she had no fear of it herself! But then, when the day came, she
did seem frightened: why was that, seeing there was nothing to be afraid
of then? Perhaps one so much at home in the darkness was correspondingly
afraid of the light! Then his selfish joy at the rising of the sun,
blinding him to her condition, had made him behave to her, in ill return
for her kindness, as cruelly as Watho behaved to him! How sweet and dear
and lovely she was! If there were wild beasts that came out only at
night, and were afraid of the light, why should there not be girls too,
made the same way--who could not endure the light, as he could not bear
the darkness? If only he could find her again! Ah, how differently he
would behave to her! But alas! perhaps the sun had killed her--melted
her--burned her up!--dried her up: that was it, if she was the nymph of
the river