My Library

upon his knees before Ravalette, bent his head, and folded his hands in an attitude half supplicatory, half adoring, and said: “Oh, dread genius of the Fire and the Flame! do I see thee here? Alas! I am a wretched man, but thou art powerful and will forgive! My defection was not my choice, but that of accident, and in the religion of Isauvi have I found more peace than ever in thy temples of the temples of Astarte!” My brain fairly reeled beneath the tremendous rush of emotions, conflicting as a whirlwind, excited by this extraordinary scene; while, as for Beverly, his face was like an ashen cloth, his limbs were like an aspen. The next moment these emotions underwent an entire change, for the woman, who appeared not to have taken the least notice of her father’s action or speech, went straight up to Ravalette, placed her jewelled hand upon his shoulder, looked him straight in the eye, as if she would wither and crush him at a glance, and in a voice low, but clear and deep, said: “And so, thou fiend, we meet again! Art going to essay more of thy tricks and magic spells? Art going to set more snares for the daughter of Im Hokeis? Wretch, thou art foiled again! What, tell me, what! thou fiend of Darkness, couldst thou gain by persecuting me now, as in my loneliness? What wouldst thou gain by seeing me wedded—