CHAPTER XVI. AN EVIL NURSE.
Watho was herself ill, as I have said, and was the worse tempered;and, besides, it is a peculiarity of witches, that what works inothers to sympathy, works in them to repulsion. Also, Watho had apoor, helpless, rudimentary spleen of a conscience left, just enoughto make her uncomfortable, and therefore more wicked. So, when sheheard that Photogen was ill, she was angry. Ill, indeed! after all shehad done to saturate him with the life of the system, with the solarmight itself! He was a wretched failure, the boy! And because he was_her_ failure, she was annoyed with him, began to dislike him, grew tohate him. She looked on him as a painter might upon a picture, or apoet, upon a poem, which he had only succeeded in getting into anirrecoverable mess. In the hearts of witches, love and hate lie closetogether, and often tumble over each other. And whether it was thather failure with Photogen foiled also her plans in regard to Nycteris,or that her illness made her yet more of a devil's wife, certainlyWatho now got sick of the girl too, and hated to know her about thecastle.
She was not too ill, however, to go to poor Photogen's room andtorment him. She told him she hated him like a serpent, and hissedlike one as she said it, looking very sharp in the nose and chin, andflat in the forehead. Photogen thought she meant to kill him, andhardly ventured to take anything brought him. She ordered every ray oflight to be shut out of his room; but by means of this he got a littleused to the darkness. She would take one of his arrows, and now ticklehim with the feather end of it, now prick him with the point till theblood ran down. What she meant finally I cannot tell, but she broughtPhotogen speedily to the determination of making his escape from thecastle: what he should do then he would think afterwards. Who couldtell but he might find his mother somewhere beyond the forest! If itwere not for the broad patches of darkness that divided day from day,he would fear nothing!
But now, as he lay helpless in the dark, ever and anon would comedawning through it the face of the lovely creature who on that firstawful night nursed him so sweetly: was he never to see her again? Ifshe was, as he had concluded, the nymph of the river, why had she notre-appeared? She might have taught him not to fear the night, forplainly she had no fear of it herself! But then, when the day came,she did seem frightened:--why was that, seeing there was nothing to beafraid of then? Perhaps one so much at home in the darkness, wascorrespondingly afraid of the light! Then his selfish joy at therising of the sun, blinding him to her condition, had made him behaveto her, in ill return for her kindness, as cruelly as Watho behaved tohim! How sweet and dear and lovely she was! If there were wild beaststhat came out only at night, and were afraid of the light, why shouldthere not be girls too, made the same way--who could not endure thelight, as he could not bear the darkness? If only he could find heragain! Ah, how differently he would behave to her! But alas! perhapsthe sun had killed her--melted her--burned her up!--dried her up--thatwas it, if she was the nymph of the river!