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THE TENANT
I could hardly hear it myself—he instantly turned back.
"Helen, is that you?" said he, "why did you run away from us?"
"Good night, Mr. Huntingdon," said I, coldly, not choosing to answer the question. And I turned away to enter the drawing-room.
"But you'll shake hands, won't you?" said he, placing himself in the door-way before me. And he seized my hand, and held it much against my will.
"Let me go, Mr. Huntingdon!" said I—"I want to get a candle."
"The candle will keep," returned he.
I made a desperate effort to free my hand from his grasp.
"Why are you in such a hurry to leave me, Helen?" he said, with a smile of the most provoking self-sufficiency—"you don't hate me, you know."
"Yes, I do—at this moment."
