I gazed at her as with dazzled eyes--I suppose as the feathered prey do at the owl that glares on them by night.

I neither moved back nor forward, but stared at her quite helplessly.
'You are nice pupil--charming young person! So polite, so obedient, so amiable! I will walk towards Church Scarsdale,' she continued, suddenly breaking through the conventionalism of her irony, and accosting me in savage accents.

'You weel stay behind if you dare.

I tell you to accompany--do you hear ?' More than ever resolved against following her, I remained where I was, watching her as she marched fiercely away, swinging her basket as though in imagination knocking my head off with it.
She soon cooled, however, and looking over her shoulder, and seeing me still at the other side of the stile, she paused, and beckoned me grimly to follow her.

Seeing me resolutely maintain my position, she faced about, tossed her head, like an angry beast, and seemed uncertain for a while what course to take with me.
She stamped and beckoned furiously again.