malignant, and glaring close in mine. He cried in a terrible voice,
'Death!' Out went Madame's candle, and at the same moment, with a scream,
I waked in the dark--still fancying myself in the library; and for an hour
after I continued in a hysterical state.

Every little incident about Madame furnished a topic of eager discussion
among the maids. More or less covertly, they nearly all hated and feared
her. They fancied that she was making good her footing with 'the Master;'
and that she would then oust Mrs. Rusk--perhaps usurp her place--and so
make a clean sweep of them all. I fancy the honest little housekeeper did
not discourage that suspicion.

About this time I recollect a pedlar--an odd, gipsified-looking man--called
in at Knowl. I and Catherine Jones were in the court when he came, and set
down his pack on the low balustrade beside the door.

All sorts of commodities he had--ribbons, cottons, silks, stockings,
lace, and even some bad jewellry; and just as he began his display--an
interesting matter in a quiet country house--Madame came upon the ground.
He grinned a recognition, and hoped 'Madamasel' was well, and 'did not look
to see _her_ here.'

'Madamasel' thanked him. 'Yes, vary well,' and looked for the first time
decidedly 'put out.'

'Wat a pretty things!' she said. 'Catherine, run and tell Mrs. Rusk. She
wants scissars, and lace too--I heard her say.'

So Catherine, with a lingering look, departed; and Madame said--