she clutched her hair in her fingers and pulled it so violently that she
actually groaned with the pain she gave herself.

The question as to whether her hair was less abundant and beautiful than
her sister's suddenly occurred to her, and like a flash in the darkness
the wish shot through her soul that she could fling Arsinoe to the ground
by the hair, with the hand which was now hurting herself.

That perfume! that horrible perfume!

She could bear it no longer. She stood up on her uninjured foot, and
with very short steps she dragged herself half crying to the window, and
flung the nosegay with the great jar of burnt clay down on to the ground.
The vessel was broken.--It had cost poor Hannah many hardly-saved pieces
not long since. Selene stood on one foot, leaning, to recover herself,
against the right-hand post of the window-opening, and there she could
hear more distinctly than from her couch, the voice of the waves as they
broke on the stone quay just behind dame Hannah's little house. The
child of the Lochias was familiar with their tones, but the clashing and
gurgling of the cool, moist element against the stones had never affected
her before as they did now. Her fevered blood was on fire, her foot was
burning, her head was hot, and hatred seemed to consume her soul as in a
slow fire; she felt as if every wave that broke upon the seawall was
calling out to her: "I am cool, I am moist, I can extinguish the flame
that is consuming you. I can refresh and revive you."

What had the world to offer her but new torment and new misery? But the
sea--the blue dark sea was wide, and cold, and deep, and its waves
promised her in insidious tones to relieve her at once of the rage of her
fever, and of the burden of her life. Selene did not pause, did not