These were apostrophes thrown off in extremity of feeling; they were
not questions, and no listener, even with the most friendly disposition
in the world, need have assumed the necessity of answering. So, wrapped
in oblivion to all earthly considerations save that of her Own inward
gloom, the one person who might have responded merely swayed back and
forth, in martyrized silence. But no such spiritual withdrawal could
insure her safety. Mrs. Blair emerged from the closet, and darted
across the room with the energy of one stung by a new despair. She
seemed about to fall upon the neutral figure in the corner, but seized
the chair-back instead, and shook it with such angry vigor that Miss
Dyer cowered down in no simulated fright.

"Where's my green bandbox?'" The words were emphasized by cumulative
shakes, "Anybody that's took that away from me ought to be b'iled in
ile! Hangin''s too good for 'em, but le' me git my eye on 'em an' they
shall swing for 't! Yes, they shall, higher 'n Gil'roy's kite!"

The victim put both trembling hands to her ears.

"I ain't deef!" she wailed.

"Deef? I don't care whether you're deef or dumb, or whether you're
nummer'n a beetle! It's my bandbox I'm arter. Isr'el in Egypt! you
might grind some folks in a mortar an' you couldn't make 'em speak!"

It was of no use. Intimidation had been worse than hopeless; even
bodily force would not avail. She cast one lurid glance at the supine
figure, and gave up the quest in that direction as sheer waste of time.
With new determination, she again essayed the closet, tossing shoes and