What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. “Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. Upon leaning back, he commented, “You look so sad. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death.
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