As if in answer to her defiance, a stealthy hand turned the knob, the
door swung lightly back, and the form of a man stood hesitating on the
threshold.
“Otho Maury!”
The cry shrilled over her lips in a strangled gasp of loathing--not
fear, for with that weapon in her hand she felt strong to defy the
villain.
He started, and stood looking at her with dazed eyes.
He had searched the whole house over by the aid of a dark lantern, and
almost began to despair of success, when he opened this last door.
He found her there, beautiful, brave, defiant, her angry blue eyes
fixed on him, and her white hand grasping the weapon whose shining
blade would surely be sheathed in his heart if he dared approach the
little beauty.
After his first start of surprise he cried, longingly:
“Floy!”
She saw that he was deathly pale, and heard a strange tremor in his
voice.
“He is frightened, and I shall easily drive him off,” she thought,
exultantly; and replied:
“How dare you intrude yourself into this house again, Otho Maury? Have
you forgotten how you were punished the last time?”
He glared angrily at her, and returned:
“No; but Beresford is not here to save you now.”
“But I can defend myself!” she cried, defiantly, brandishing her weapon.
“Put down that child’s toy, my dear. I am not afraid of it in the
least. I could take it from you and snap it like a twig!”
“You _are_ afraid, you wretch! Your face is ashen pale and your voice
trembles with fear!” she retorted, confidently.
“If my face is pale, and my voice weak, it is not from fear of that
shining little blade in your tiny hand, it is from horror at what I
have seen since I entered this house. Tell me, Floy, did you know that
this house is really haunted?”
“Yes, I knew it,” she answered, and her voice grew tremulous also,
while a look of horror dawned in her eyes.
“You knew it!” he cried in wonder. “Then how have you had the courage
to remain here alone?”
“You do well to ask that question,” the poor girl cried out, bitterly.
“You, Otho Maury, who have almost hounded me to death. Stay! do not
advance one step nearer, or----”
He drew back sullenly, and remained on the threshold facing her with
his back to the dark corridor, while he said, pleadingly:
“Floy, I followed you here with an honorable object. I love you madly.
Will you become my wife?”
“Never!” she answered, curtly, with measureless contempt that angered
him to frenzy.
“Take care how you scorn me, pretty Floy, for you are in my power,
and I may take a terrible revenge for your contempt,” he exclaimed,
advancing toward her, secure in his ability to disarm the weak, puny
girl.
“Heaven help me!” silently prayed the poor girl, bracing herself to
drive home her weapon of defense into her assailant’s breast as soon as
he came within reach.
“If you come within reach, you are rushing on your death!” she cried,
wildly.
“Ha! ha!” he laughed, as at some pretty child, and made a rush
sidewise, aiming to wrench away the weapon, and, in spite of her
alertness, he grasped the middle of the arm that held the dagger.
Like a flash, Floy transferred it to her other hand and struck out at
random.
But the keen blade went home, piercing the side of his neck through,
and as the blood spurted into his face, blinding him with its hot
waves, he relaxed his hold and fell dizzily to the floor.