"Oh, you wicked Spruce! How could you!"
And Maryllia, springing up from her chair, made a bound to the opposite corner of the room, where there was a tall vase filled with peacocks' feathers. Gathering all these in her hand, she flourished them dramatically in the old housekeeper's face.
"The most unlucky things in the world!" she exclaimed; "Peacocks' feathers! How could you allow them to be in this room on the very day of my return! It's dreadful!--quite dreadful!--you know it is! Nothing is quite so awful as a peacock's feather!"
Mrs. Spruce stared, gasped and blinked,--her hand involuntarily wandered to her side in search for convenient 'spasms.'
"They've always been 'ere, Miss," she stammered; "I 'adn't no idee as 'ow you wouldn't like them, though to tell the truth, I 'ave 'eard somethin' about their bein' onlucky---"
"Unlucky! I should think so!" replied Maryllia, holding the objectionable plumes as far away from herself as possible,--"No wonder we've been unfortunate, if these feathers were always in the old house! No wonder everything went wrong! I must break the spell at once and for ever. Are there more of these horrible 'witch-eyes' in any of the rooms?"
Poor Mrs. Spruce made a great effort to cudgel her memory. She was affected by 'a palpitation,' as she expressed it. There was her newly-arrived mistress confronting her with the authoritative air of a young empress, holding the bunch of glittering peacocks' plumes aloft, like a rod uplifted for summary chastisement, and asking her to instantly remember whether there were any more 'horrible witch- eyes' about. Mrs. Spruce had never before heard such a term applied to the tail-sheddings of the imperial fowl,--but she never forgot it, and never afterwards saw a peacock's feather without a qualm.
"I couldn't say, Miss; I'm not sure--" she answered flutteringly; "But I'll have every 'ole and corner searched to-morrow---"
"No, to-night!" said Maryllia, with determination; "I will not sleep in the house if ONE peacock's feather remains in it! There!" Her brows were bent tragically;--in another moment she laughed; "Take them away!" she continued, picking up Mrs. Spruce's apron at the corners and huddling all the glittering plumage into its capacious folds; "Take them all away! And go right through the house, and collect every remaining feather you can find--and then--and then---"
Here she paused dubiously. "You mustn't burn them, you know! That would be unluckier still!"
"Lor! Would it now, Miss? I never should 'ave thought it!" murmured Mrs. Spruce plaintively, grasping her apronful of 'horrible witch- eyes'; "What on earth shall I do with them?"