"
"But the one in black,--describe her,--her hair,--was she tall or
short?" interrupted Jaspar, hurriedly.
"Her hair was in curls. She was apparently about twenty-six or seven,
and rather short in stature."
"Curls," muttered Jaspar; "she has not worn curls since the colonel
died. She may have put them on again to please that infernal Captain
Carroll. Twenty-six years old, you think?"
"She may have been younger. Her features were terribly mangled," and Mr.
Dalhousie cast a penetrating glance at Jaspar, as though he would read
out the beatings of his black heart.
Jaspar considered again the description, and, though it did not
correspond to his niece's, his anxiety had contributed to warp his
judgment. He was very willing to believe the Chalmetta's fatal disaster
had forever removed the only obstacle to the gratification of his
ambition, and the only source of future insecurity. He paced the room,
muttering, in his abstraction, sundry broken phrases.
Dalhousie watched him, and endeavored to obtain the purport of his
disjointed soliloquy.
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