CHAPTER VI
THE CRUEL PAINTER.
Now to return to the Story-Club.
On the night appointed, we met. And to the delight of all the rest of us,
Harry arrived with a look that satisfied us that he was to be no defaulter
this time. The look was one of almost nervous uneasiness. Of course this
sprung from anxiety to please Adela--at least, so I interpreted it. She
occupied her old place on the couch; we all arranged ourselves nearly as
before; and the fire was burning very bright. Before he began, however,
Harry, turning to our host, said:
"May I arrange the scene as I please, for the right effect of my story?"
"Certainly," answered the colonel.
Harry rose, and extinguished the lamp.
"But, my dear sir," said the colonel, "how can you read now?"
"Perfectly, by the firelight," answered Harry.
He then went to the windows, and drawing aside the curtains, drew up the
blinds.
It was full high moon, and the light so clear that, notwithstanding the
brightness of the fire, each window seemed to lie in ghostly shimmer on
the floor.
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