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Updated: June 11, 2025
So saying, he stepped from the room with his captive, and securely locked the door behind him. When he had disappeared, the frozen Zonela thawed, and with a shriek of anguish flung herself on the inanimate body of Furbelow. It was New Year's Eve, and eleven o'clock at night.
"Ah! but, Zonela, he did not know whether she loved him in return. You forget that he was deformed." "But," answered the girl, gravely, "he was good." A light like the flash of an aurora illuminated Solon's face for an instant.
He seized him in his bony, muscular grasp, as he would have seized a puppet, and held him at arm's length gasping and powerless; while Zonela, pale, breathless, entreating, sank half-kneeling on the floor. "Your skeleton will be interesting to science when you are dead, Mr. Solon," hissed the Wondersmith.
If I were his child, do you think that he would treat me as he does? make me trudge round the city, all day long, with a barrel-organ and a monkey, though I love poor dear little Furbelow, and keep me up in a garret, and give me ever so little to eat? I know I'm not his child, for he hates me." "Listen to my story, Zonela, and well talk of that afterwards.
The flames roared round and round, as if seeking for escape, licking every projecting cornice and sill with greedy tongues, as the serpent licks his prey before he swallows it. A hot, putrid breath came through the keyhole and smote Solon and Zonela like a wind of death. They clasped each other's hands with a moan of terror, and fled from the house.
"Zonela, are you asleep?" said the shadow, softly. "Oh, Solon, is it you?" replied a sweet low voice from within. "I thought it was Herr Hippe. Come in." The shadow opened the door and entered.
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