her he was pleased to see that she was
awakened to a sense of her condition.

And then he left. And then came the deluge.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE DELUGE.

The indescribable deluge! But, after all, the worst of anything of that
sort is the moment before it begins. A plunge-bath, a tooth-pulling, an
amputation, and a dress-party are all worse in anticipation than in the
moment of infliction. Julia, as she stood busily sticking a pin in the
window-sash, waiting for her mother to begin, wished that the storm
might burst, and be done with it. But Mrs. Anderson understood her
business too well for that. She knew the value of the awful moments of
silence before beginning. She had not practiced all her life without
learning the fine art of torture in its exquisite details. I doubt not
the black-robed fathers of the Holy Office were leisurely gentlemen,
giving their victims plenty of time for anticipatory meditation, laying
out their utensils quietly, inspecting the thumb-screw affectionately to
make sure that it would work smoothly, discussing the rack and wheel
with much tender forethought, as though torture were a sweet thing, to
be reserved like a little girl's candy lamb, and only resorted to when
the appetite has been duly whetted by contemplation. I never had the
pleasure of knowing an inquisitor, and I can not certify that they were
of this deliberate fashion. But it "stands to nature" that they were.
For the vixens who are vixens of the highest quality, are always
deliberate.

Mrs. Anderson felt that the piece of invective which she was about to
undertake, was not to be taken in hand unadvisedly, "but reverently,
discreetly, and in the fear of God." And so she paused, and Julia
fumbled the tassel of the window-curtain, and trembled with the chill of
expectation. And Mrs. Abigail continued to debate how she might make
this, which would doubtless be her last outburst before the day of
judgment, her masterpiece--worthy song of the dying swan. And then she
hoped, she sincerely hoped, to be able by this awful _coup de main_ to
awaken Julia to a sense of her sinfulness. For there was such a jumble
of mixed motives in her mind, that one could never distinguish her
sincerity from her hypocrisy.

Mrs. Anderson's conscience was quite an objective one. As Jonas often
remarked, "she had a feelin' sense of other folkses unworthiness." And
the sins which she appreciated were generally sins against herself.
Julia's disobedie