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Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. She knew now the supreme human energy which sent men to hell or carried them to their earthly heights. “When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. Rattles were sprung; lanterns lighted, and hoisted at the end of poles; windows thrown open; doors unbarred; and, as if by magic, the street was instantaneously filled with a crowd of persons of both sexes, armed with such weapons as came most readily to hand, and dressed in such garments as could be most easily slipped on. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support.
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