"But as to shape," resumed Sir Norman, eyeing the excited and
astonished little animal, still shrilly squealing, with the glance of
a connoisseur, "I confess I do not see it! The rat is straight and
shapely--which his highness, with all reverence be it said--is not, but
rather the reverse, if you will not be offended at me for saying so."
She broke into a short laugh that had a hard, metallic ring, and then
her face darkened, blackened, and she ground the foot that crushed the
rat fiercer, and with a sort of passionate vindictiveness, as if she had
the head of the dwarf under her heel.
"I hate him! I hate him!" she said, through her clenched teeth and
though her tone was scarcely above a whisper, it was so terrible in its
fiery earnestness that Sir Norman thrilled with repulsion. "Yes, I hate
him with all my heart and soul, and I wish to heaven I had him here,
like this rat, to trample to death under my feet!"
Not knowing very well what reply to make to this strong and heartfelt
speech, which rather shocked his notions of female propriety, Sir Norman
stood silent, and looked reflectively after the rat, which, when she
permitted it at last to go free, limped away with an ineffably sneaking
and crest-fallen expression on his hitherto animated features. She
watched it, too, with a gloomy eye, and when it crawled into the
darkness and was gone, she looked up with a face so dark and moody that
it was almost sullen.
"Yes, I hate him!" she repeated, with a fierce moodiness that was quite
dreadful, "yes, I hate him! and I would kill him, like that rat, if I
could! He has been the curse of my whole life; he has made life cursed
to me; and his heart's blood shall be shed for it some day yet, I
swear!"
With all her beauty there was something so horrible in the look she
wore, that Sir Norman involuntarily recoiled from her. Her sharp eyes
noticed it, and both grew red and fiery as two devouring flames.
"Ah! you, too, shrink from me, would you? You, too, recoil in horror!
Ingrate! And I have come to save your life!"
"Madame, I recoil not from you, but from that which is tempting you
to utter words like these. I have no reason to love him of whom you
speak--you, perhaps, have even less; but I would not have his blood,
shed in murder, on my head, for ten thousand worlds! Pardon me, but you
do not mean what you say."
"Do I not? That remains to be seen! I would not call it murder plunging
a knife into the heart of a demon incarnate like that, and I would have
done it long ago and he knows it, too, if I had the chance!"