him! How sweet and dear and lovely she was! If there were wild beasts
that came out only at night, and were afraid of the light, why should
there not be girls too, made the same way--who could not endure the
light, as he could not bear the darkness? If only he could find her
again! Ah, how differently he would behave to her! But alas! perhaps
the sun had killed her--melted her--burned her up!--dried her up--that
was it, if she was the nymph of the river!




CHAPTER XVII

WATHO'S WOLF.


From that dreadful morning Nycteris had never got to be herself again.
The sudden light had been almost death to her; and now she lay in the
dark with the memory of a terrific sharpness--a something she dared
scarcely recall, lest the very thought of it should sting her beyond
endurance. But this was as nothing to the pain which the recollection
of the rudeness of the shining creature whom she had nursed through
his fear caused her; for, the moment his suffering passed over to her,
and he was free, the first use he made of his returning strength had
been to scorn her! She wondered and wondered; it was all beyond her
comprehension.

Before long, Watho was plotting evil against her. The witch was like a
sick child weary of his toy: she would pull her to pieces, and see how
she liked it. She would set her in the sun, and see her die, like a