As she stood quite still
looking at him he had a confused idea that she was a Madonna, and his
mind wandered to churches he had attended on another planet, where
pretty fashionable women had commanded his escort. Then he began to
laugh again. The idea of a Madonna in a groggery of the Five Points
was more amusing than the fracas just over.
"Langdon!" she said imperiously. "Don't you know me?"
Then he recognized her, but he believed she was a ghost. He had had
delirium tremens twice, and this no doubt was a new form. He gave a
shaking cry and shrank back, his hands raised with the palms outward.
"Curse you!" he screamed. "It's not there. I _don't_ see you!"
He extended one of his trembling hands, still with his horrified
eyes on the apparition, filled his mug from a bottle and drank the
liquor off with a gulp. Then he flung the mug to the floor and
staggered to his feet, his eyes roving to the men behind her. "What
does this mean?" he stammered. "Are you here or aren't you--dead or
alive?"
"We're here all right," said Holt, in his matter-of-fact voice. "And
this really is she. She has come for you."
"Come for me--for me!" His roar of laughter was drunken but its note
was even more ironic than when his mirth had been excited by the mean
drama of the women.
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