ne that
confronted his, for, as I sprang toward him, he bounded backward and
escaped through the door of Mrs. Clayton's chamber, which he shot after
him with undignified alertness. I stood smiling, and strangely cold,
leaning against the mantel-shelf, while my heart beat as though, it
would have leaped from my throat, and I could feel the pallor of my face
as chill as marble.

Mrs. Clayton approached me, but I put her away with waving hands, "Go,
wretch!" I said, "woman no more, you have unsexed yourself. Leave me in
peace--your touch is poisonous."

She shrank away silently, and I stood for a while like one frozen; then
cast myself down on a chair and gave way to bitter weeping. The
flood-gates were open, and the "waters" had indeed "come in over my
soul." I had restrained my passionate inclinations until now, not only
from a sense of personal dignity, but from a determination not to play
into the hands of my enemies and captors, and all the more from such
long self-control was the revulsion potent and overwhelming.

The consciousness that Ernie was at my knee at last aroused me from the
indulgence of my grief, and I looked down to meet his corn passionate
and inquiring eyes fixed upon me with a masterful expression I have
never seen in any other childish face. It thrilled me to the heart.

"What Mirry cry for--is God mad with Mirry?" he asked at length.

"It seems so, Ernie--yet oh, no, no! I cannot, will not believe in such
injustice on the part of the Most High!" I pursued in sad soliloquy,
with folded hands, and shaking head, and musing eyes fixed on the fire
before me: "My God will not forsake me!"

"Did the bad man hurt Mirry?" he asked, leaning with both arms on my lap
and putting up his hand to touch my face.

"Yes, very cruelly, Ernie."

"Big giant will come and kill him, and fayways put him in the river, and
the old wolf wat eat Red Riding Hood eat him, and then the devil will
roast him for his dinner."

I could but smile, albeit through my tears, at the climax of these
threats which seemed to delight and stir the inmost soul of Ernie. His
eyes flashed, his cheek crimsoned, his wide red mouth curled with
disdainful ire, disclosing the small, pointed pearls within; he seemed
transfigured.

"And Ernie! what will Ernie do for Mirry?" I asked, as I watched the
workings of his expressive face. "Will Ernie let the wicked man kill
Mirry?"

He looked at his small hands and arms, then extended them wistf