"What has he done to you to make you do bitter against him?"

"Bitter! Oh, that word is poor and pitiful to express what I feel when

his name is mentioned. Loathing and hatred come a little nearer the

mark, but even they are weak to express the utter--the--" She stopped in

a sort of white passion that choked her very words.

"They told me he was your husband," insinuated Sir Norman, unutterably

repelled.

"Did they?" she said, with a cold sneer, "he is, too--at least as far as

church and state can make him; but I am no more his wife at heart than

I am Satan's. Truly of the two I should prefer the latter, for then I

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should be wedded to something grand--a fallen angel; as it is, I have

the honor to be wife to a devil who never was an angel?"

At this shocking statement Sir Norman looked helplessly round, as if

for relief; and Miranda, after a moment's silence, broke into another

mirthless laugh.

"Of all the pictures of ugliness you ever saw or heard of, Sir Norman

Kingsley, do tell me if there ever was one of them half so repulsive or

disgusting as that thing?"

"Really," said Sir Norman, in a subdued tone, "he is not the most

prepossessing little man in the world; but, madame, you do look and

speak in a manner quite dreadful. Do let me prevail on you to calm

yourself, and tell me your story, as you promised."

"Calm myself!" repeated the gentle lady, in a tone half snappish, half

harsh, "do you think I am made of iron, to tell you my story and be

calm? I hate him! I hate him! I would kill him if I could: and if you,

Sir Norman, are half the man I take you to be, you will rid the world of

the horrible monster before morning dawns!"

"My dear lady, you seem to forget that the case is reversed, and that he

is going to rid the world of me,", said Sir Norman, with a sigh.

"No, not if you do as I tell you; and when I have told you how much

cause I have to abhor him, you will agree with me that killing him will

be no murder! Oh, if there is One above who rules this world, and will

judge us all, why, why does He permit such monsters to live?"

"Because He is more merciful than his creatures," replied Sir Norman,

with calm reverence,--"though His avenging hand is heavy on this doomed

city. But, madame, time is on the wing, and the headsman will be here

before your story is told."

"Ah, that story! How am I to tell it, I wonder, two words will comprise

it all--sin and misery--misery and sin! For, buried alive here, as I

am--buried alive, as I've always been--I know what both words mean;

they have been branded on heart and brain in letters of fire. And that

horrible monstrosity is the cause of all--that loathsome, misshapen,

hideous abortion has banned and cursed my whole life! He is my

first recollection. As far back as I can look through the dim eye of

childhood's years, that horrible face, that gnarled and twisted trunk,

those devilish eyes glare at me like the eyes and face of a wild beast.

As memory grows stronger and more vivid, I can see that same face

still--the dwarf! the dwarf! the dwarf!--Satan's true representative on

earth, darkening and blighting ever passing year. I do not know where we

lived, but I imagine it to have been one of the vilest and lowest dens

in London, though the rooms I occupied were, for that matter, decent and

orderly enough. Those rooms the daylight never entered, the windows

were boarded up within, and fastened by shutters without, so that of the

world beyond I was as ignorant as a child of two hours old. I saw but

two human faces, his"--she seemed to hate him too much even to pronounce

his name--"and his housekeeper's, a creature almost as vile as himself,

and who is now a servant here; and with this precious pair to guard me

I grew up to be fifteen years old. My outer life consisted of eating,

sleeping, reading--for the wretch taught me to read--playing with my

dogs and birds, and listening to old Margery's stories. But there was

an inward life, fierce and strong, as it was rank and morbid, lived and

brooded over alone, when Margery and her master fancied me sleeping in

idiotic content. How were they to know that the creature they had reared

and made ever had a thought of her own--ever wondered who she was, where

she came from, what she was destined to be, and what lay in the great

world beyond? The crooked little monster made a great mistake in

teaching me to read, he should have known that books sow seed that grow

up and flourish tall and green, till they become giants in strength.

I knew enough to be certain there was a bright and glad world without,

from which they shut me in and debarred me; and I knew enough to hate

them both for it, with a strong and heartfelt hatred, only second to

what I feel now."




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