He was now right upon the center of the rug.
Capitola turned very pale, but not with fear, though Black Donald
thought she did, and roared with laughter.
"Have you done your supper?" she asked, with a sort of awful
calmness.
"Yes my duck," replied the outlaw, pouring the last of the egg-nog
into his goblet, drinking it at a draught and chuckling as he set
down the glass.
Capitola then lifted the stand with the refreshments to remove it to
its usual place.
"What are you going to do, my dear?" asked Black Donald.
"Clear away the things and set the room in order," said Capitola, in
the same awfully calm tone.
"A nice little housewife you'll make, my duck!" said Black Donald.
Capitola set the stand in its corner and then removed her own
armchair to its place before the dressing bureau.
Nothing now remained upon the rug except Black Donald seated in the
armchair!
Capitola paused; her blood seemed freezing in her veins; her heart
beat thickly; her throat was choked; her head full nearly to
bursting, and her eyes were veiled by a blinding film.
"Come--come--my duck--make haste; it is late; haven't you done
setting the room in order yet?" said Black Donald, impatiently.
"In one moment," said Capitola, coming behind his chair and leaning
upon the back of it.
"Donald," she said, with dreadful calmness, "I will not now call you
Black Donald! I will call you as your poor mother did, when your
young soul was as white as your skin, before she ever dreamed her
boy would grow black with crime! I will call you simply Donald, and
entreat you to hear me for a few minutes.
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