Her face was livid and unnaturally drawn, and the extraordinary contrast in the colour of her two eyes was horribly apparent.

The one seemed to freeze, the other to be on fire.

The strongest and worst passions that can play upon the human soul were all expressed with awful force in the distorted mask, and not a trace of the magnificent beauty so lately there was visible.

Beatrice shrank back in horror.
"You know him!" she cried, half guessing at the truth.
"I know him--and I love him," said Unorna slowly and fiercely, her eyes fixed on her enemy, and gradually leaning towards her so as to bring her face nearer and nearer to Beatrice.
The dark woman tried to rise, and could not.

There was worse than anger, or hatred, or the intent to kill, in those dreadful eyes.