"Oh, I see you are no Arabian in your notions of hospitality! Those
pagans entertain a guest without asking him a single question; and
though he were their bitterest foe, they consider him while he rests
beneath their tent sacred from intrusion."
"That's because they were pagans!" said Dorky. "But as I am a
Christian, I'd thank you to let me know who it is that I have
received under this roof."
"My name," said our heroine, impatiently, "is Capitola Black! I live
with my uncle, Major Warfield, at Hurricane Hall! And now, I should
thank your ladyship to send some one to put away my horse, while you
yourself accommodate me with dry clothes."
While our saucy little heroine spoke the whole aspect of the dark-
browed woman changed.
"Capitola-Capitola," she muttered, gazing earnestly upon the face of
the unwelcome guest.
"Yes, Capitola! That is my name! You never heard anything against
it, did you?"
For all answer the woman seized her hand, and while the lightning
flashed and the thunder rolled, and the wind and rain beat down, she
drew her the whole length of the hall before a back window that
overlooked the neglected garden, and, regardless of the electric
fluid that incessantly blazed upon them, she held her there and
scrutinized her features.
"Well, I like this! Upon my word, I do!" said Cap, composedly.
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