Tell me; did I go anywhere last night with Mr. Meyer--you and
he and I together?"
He hesitated and looked guilty; Mr. Clifford was not a good actor.
"I see that we did; I am sure that we did. Father, tell me. I must know,
I will know."
Then he gave way.
"I didn't want to speak, dear, but perhaps it is best. It is a very
strange story. Will you promise not to be upset?"
"I will promise not to be more upset than I am at present," she
answered, with a sad little laugh. "Go on."
"You remember that Jacob Meyer wanted to mesmerize you?"
"I am not likely to forget it," she answered.
"Well, last night he did mesmerize you."
"What?" she said. "_What?_ Oh! how dreadful! Now I understand it all.
But when?"
"When you were sound asleep, I suppose. At least, the first I knew of
it was that some noise woke me, and I came out of the hut to see you
following him like a dead woman, with a lamp in your hand."
Then he told her all the story, while she listened aghast.
"How dared he!" she gasped, when her father had finished the long tale.
"I hate him; I almost wish that you had killed him," and she clenched
her little hands and shook them in the air.
"That is not very Christian of you, Miss Clifford," said a voice behind
her. "But it is past one o'clock, and as I am still alive I have come to
tell you that it is time for luncheon.
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