Ye who have wondered to hear, in the same evangel, that God is love, and that God is a consuming fire, see ye not how, to the soul resolved in evil, perfect love is the most fearful torture, the seal and sentence of the direst despair?
"Blast it!" said Legree to himself, as he sipped his liquor; "where did he get that?
If it didn't look just like--whoo! I thought I'd forgot that.

Curse me, if I think there's any such thing as forgetting anything, any how,--hang it! I'm lonesome! I mean to call Em.

She hates me--the monkey! I don't care,--I'll _make_ her come!" Legree stepped out into a large entry, which went up stairs, by what had formerly been a superb winding staircase; but the passage-way was dirty and dreary, encumbered with boxes and unsightly litter.

The stairs, uncarpeted, seemed winding up, in the gloom, to nobody knew where! The pale moonlight streamed through a shattered fanlight over the door; the air was unwholesome and chilly, like that of a vault.
Legree stopped at the foot of the stairs, and heard a voice singing.

It seemed strange and ghostlike in that dreary old house, perhaps because of the already tremulous state of his nerves.