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The two young people looked steadfastly at the brilliantly-colored figure of the negress, standing in a statuesque attitude near the great iron gate. On either side of her waved the summer foliage of the trees; overhead the sun, like a burning eye, looked down from a cloudless sky, and beyond, the dusty white road showed distinctly through the slender bars of the gate. All was bright and cheerful and English, but in that sinister red figure, with its black face and hands, there was a suggestion of evil which seemed to dominate and poison the whole beautiful scene. Maurice felt Isabella shudder with nervous dread as she pressed closely to his side. "There," said Jen, pointing to the inanimate form of his old servant. "He is asleep or dead." "Perhaps it took hard rubs to bring it out," said Miss Jinny, pouring another cup for Mr. Spicer. "We poor human critters are like that sometimes. Good times spoil us. Maybe she's had it too easy, poor girl.".
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"No. I'll see Isabella, and hear what she has to say. She loved Maurice, and will aid me to avenge his death." "Why don't you do something?" cried Patricia again. "Why don't you tell him? Griffin, it wasn't true—that she copied it! You know she'd not do a thing like that!" "Sounds like you were prescribing for yourself," retorted Judith with a flash of intuition. "You look just as——" "Rubbish, my boy. It has been hanging on the wall for years, and has never hurt anyone yet!".
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