"Yes, it's up to me, and I'll get what I want--the people and I....

Who's THAT frightful person ?" Into the room, only a few feet from them, advanced an old woman--very old, but straight as a projectile.

She carried her head high, and her masses of gray-white hair, coiled like a crown, gave her the seeming of royalty in full panoply.

There was white lace over her black velvet at the shoulders; her train swept yards behind her.

She was bearing a cane, or rather a staff, of ebony; but it suggested, not decrepitude, but power--perhaps even a weapon that might be used to enforce authority should occasion demand.