To do her justice, she looked terrified; every vestige of color had fled
from her face, even from her lips, and her eyes continued gleaming
wildly and fixedly on her.

"Why did you come, then--what do you want of me?" she said, at last,
excitedly, and even angrily.

"I came to ask how you are, Lucille--I feared you were ill."

"I--I ill? You know I was _not_ ill," she said hurriedly and
impatiently, and either forgetting or despising her own excuse of but a
moment before. "You came--you came for a _purpose_, Julie--yes, yes--do
not deny it--there is perfidy enough already."

"You wrong me, Lucille; I told you the simple truth--why should I
deceive you?"

"Why--why? Because the world is full of deceit, full of falsehood and
treason--they are every where, every where."

She turned away, and Julie perceived that she was weeping.

She was pained and puzzled--nay, she was crossed every moment by the
horrid fear that Lucille's mind was unsettled. Her strange agitation
seemed otherwise unaccountable.

"Lucille--dear Lucille--surely you will not be angry with your poor
little friend--surely you believe Julie."

She looked at her for a moment, and said--

"Yes, Julie, I do believe you;" and so saying, she kissed her. "But--but
I am utterly, and I fear irremediably miserable."

"But what is the cause of your wretchedness, my dear Lucille?"

"This place--this solitude oppresses me; I cannot endure the isolation
to which I am unnaturally and tyrannically condemned. Oh, Julie! there
are circumstances, secrets, miseries, I dare not tell you; fate is
weaving round me a net, to all eyes but my own invisible. But why do you
look at me with those strange glances? Do not believe that I am
_guilty_, because I am miserable--do not dare to touch me with such a
thought."

She stamped her little foot furiously on the floor at these words,
while her cheek and eye kindled with excitement. It speedily subsided,
however, into a deep and sullen gloom, and she continued--

"I scarce know myself, Julie, what I am, or what I may be; but my heart
is as full of tumult, of suffering, of hatred, as hell itself. I will at
least be free--my captivity in this magician's prison shall terminate--I
_will_ not endure it. It shall end soon, one way or another--I will
liberate myself."

Lucille spoke with something more than passion--it was fierceness; and
her gentle companion was filled with vague alarms. She had, as feeble
natures often hav