"Manners!" I replied, calmly.

"Ha! teach ME!"

"You mistake yourself," I said, adjusting my mittens. "Your
manners require not the artificial restraint of society. You are
radically polite; this impetuosity and ferociousness is simply the
sincerity which is the basis of a proper deportment. Your
instincts are moral; your better nature, I see, is religious. As
St. Paul justly remarks--see chap. 6, 8, 9, and 10--"

He seized a heavy candlestick, and threw it at me. I dodged it
submissively but firmly.

"Excuse me," he remarked, as his under jaw slowly relaxed. "Excuse
me, Miss Mix--but I can't stand St. Paul! Enough--you are
engaged."


CHAPTER IV.


I followed the housekeeper as she led the way timidly to my room.
As we passed into a dark hall in the wing, I noticed that it was
closed by an iron gate with a grating. Three of the doors on the
corridor were likewise grated. A strange noise, as of shuffling
feet and the howling of infuriated animals, rang through the hall.
Bidding the housekeeper good night, and taking the candle, I
entered my bedchamber.