Two or three hounds in the garden started joyously to follow her, but she drove them back with a portentous frown, and an ill-aimed stone, and a suppressed voice.

Yet in that backward glance she could see that her little Eumenides--Mammy Judy's children--were peering at her from below the wooden floor of the portico, which they were grasping with outstretched arms and bowed shoulders, as if they were black caryatides supporting--as indeed their race had done for many a year--the pre-doomed and decaying mansion of their master..