THE DREAM CIRCEAN
“The room, though exquisitely decorated, was entirely
bare of furniture, unless one could dignify by that name a heap
of dirty straw in one corner, by which stood a flattish wooden
bowl, half full of what looked like a crust of bread mashed into
pulp with water.
“ Half turned away from me stood the owner of the harsh
voice and soul abominable. It wasa woman of perhaps sixty
years of age, the head of an angel—so regular were the features,
so silver-white the hair—set upon the deformed body of a
dwarf. Hairy hands and twisted arms, a hunched back and
bandy legs; in the gnarled right hand a terrible whip, the
carved jade handle blossoming into a rose of fine cords, shin-
ing with silver—sharp, three-cornered chips of silver! The
whole dripped black with blood. Upon the angel face stood
asneer, a snarl,a malediction. The effect upon one’s sense of
something beyond the ordinary was, too, heightened by her
costume; for though the summer was at its height she was
clad from head to foot in ermine, starred, more heavily than is
usual, with the little black tails in the form offleurs-de-lis.
“In extreme contrast to this monster was a young girl
crouching upon the floor. At first sight one would have
hardly suspected a human form at all, for from her head
flowed down on all sides a torrent of exquisite blonde gold,
that completely hid her. Only two little hands looked out,
clasped, pleading for mercy, and a fairy child-face, looking
up—in vain—to that black heart of hatred. Even as I gazed
the woman hissed out so frightful a menace that my blood
ran chill. The child shrank back into herself. The other
raised her whip. I leapt into the room. The old hag spat
one infamous word at me, turned on me with the whip.
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