"I cannot help it, Antony. I know it is foolish, but I cannot help it. I
think living in this place has made me morbid. She seems so alive--so
evil, so cruel. I am sorry you bought her, Antony. I cannot bear to look
at her. Won't you take her away? Take her up into the wood. Keep her
there. Take her now. I shall not be able to sleep all night if I know
she is in the house."

She was half hysterical, and Antony soothed her gently.

"Yes, yes, dear. I'm sorry. I'll take her up the wood now this minute.
Wait till I light the lantern. Poor Beatrice, I never dreamed she would
affect you so. I loved her, dear--because I love you; but I would rather
break her in pieces than that she should make you unhappy. Though to
break any image of you, dear," he added tenderly, "would seem a kind of
sacrilege. You know how I love you, Beatrice, don't you?"

"Of course I do, dear; and it was sweet of you to buy her for my sake,
and I'm quite silly to-night. To-morrow I shall think nothing about her.
Still, dear, she does frighten me, I can't tell why. There seems
something malignant about her, something that threatens our happiness.
Oh, how silly I am--"

Meanwhile, Antony had lit an old brass lantern, and presently he was
flashing his way up among the dark sounds of the black old wood, with
that ghostly face tenderly pressed against his side.

He stopped once to turn his lantern upon her. How mysterious she looked,
here in the night, under the dark pines!

He too felt a little haunted as he climbed his châlet staircase and