You only hoped it.

I am not dead.

It's a great deal worse with me than that." "What do you want ?" Mr.Walraven repeated, steadily, though his swarth face was dusky gray with rage or fear, or both.

"What do you come here for to-night?
Has the master you serve helped you bodily, that you follow and find me even here?
Are you not afraid I will throttle you for your pains ?" "Not the least." She said it with a composure the best bred of his mother's guests could not have surpassed, standing bolt upright before him, her dusky eyes of fire burning on his face.
"I am not afraid of you, Mr.Walraven (that's your name, isn't it ?--and a very fine-sounding name it is), but you're afraid of me--afraid to the core of your bitter, black heart.

You stand there dressed like a king, and I stand here in rags your kitchen scullions would scorn; but for all that, Carl Walraven--for all that, you're my slave, and you know it!" Her eyes blazed, her hands clinched, her gaunt form seemed to tower and grow tall with the sense of her triumph and her power.
"Have you anything else to say ?" inquired Mr.Walraven, sullenly, "before I call my servants and have you turned out ?" "You dare not," retorted the woman, fiercely--"you dare not, coward! boaster! and you know it! I have a great deal more to say, and I will say it, and you will hear me before we part to-night.