your false arts for your dupes. Do you hope to move me by your tears? No more than you could charm me by your smiles, you purchased slave.’

‘Oh, have some mercy on me!’ cried Emily. ‘Show me some compassion, or I shall die mad!’

‘It would be no great penance,’ said Rosa Dartle, ‘for your crimes.

Do you know what you have done? Do you ever think of the home you have laid waste?’

‘Oh, is there ever night or day, when I don’t think of it!’ cried Emily; and now I could just see her, on her knees, with her head thrown back, her pale face looking upward, her hands wildly clasped and held out, and her hair streaming about her. ‘Has there ever been a single minute, waking or sleeping, when it hasn’t