light on his reverent, earnest face ; Hester sitting
on the other side of the fire, her head bowed
in attentive listening, now and then shaking
it, and moaning a little, but when a promise
came, or any good tidings of great joy, saying
"Amen." with fervour; Bessy by her aunt,
perhaps her mind a little wandering to some household
cares, or it might be on thoughts of those
who were absent—this little quiet pause, I say,
was grateful and soothing to this household, as
a lullaby to a tired child. But this night, Bessy
—sitting opposite to the long low window, only
shaded by a few geraniums that grew in the sill,
and the door alongside that window, through
which her uncle had passed not a quarter of an
hour before—saw the wooden latch of the door
gently and almost noiselessly lifted up, as if some
one were trying it from the outside.

She was startled; and watched again, intently;
but it was perfectly still now. She thought it must
have been that it had not fallen into its proper
place when her uncle had come in and locked
the door. It was just enough to make her
uncomfortable, no more; and she almost persuaded
herself it must have been fancy. Before she
went up-stairs, however, she went to the window
to look out into the darkness; but all was still.
Nothing to be seen; nothing to be heard. So
the three went quietly up-stairs to bed.

The house was little better than a cottage. The
front door opened on a houseplace, over which was
the old couple's bedroom. To the left, as you
entered this pleasant houseplace and at ciose
right angles with the entrance, was a door that
led into the small parlour, which was Hester and
Bessy's pride, although not half as comfortable
as the houseplace, and never on any occasion
used as a sitting-room. There were shells and
bunches of honesty in the fireplace; the best
chest of drawers, and a company-set of gaudy-
coloured china, and a bright common carpet on
the floor; but all failed to give it the aspect of
the homely comfort and delicate cleanliness of
the houseplace. Over this parlour was the
bedroom which Benjamin had slept in when a boy
—when at home. It was kept still in a kind of
readiness for him. The bed was still there, in
which none had slept since he, eight or nine years
ago; and every now and then the warming-pan
was taken quietly and silently up by his old
mother, and the bed thoroughly aired. But this
she did in her husband's absence, and without
saying a word to any one; nor did Bessy offer to
help her, though her eyes often filled with tears,
as she saw her aunt still going through the hopeless
service. But the room had become a receptacle
for all unused things; and there was always
a corner of it appropriated to the winter's store
of apples. To the left of the houseplace, as you
stood facing the fire, on the side opposite to the
window and outer door, were two other doors;
the one on the right opened into a kind of back
kitchen, and had a lean-to roof, and a door
opening on to the farm-yard and back premises;
the left-hand door gave on the stairs, underneath
which was a closet, in which various household
treasures were kept, and beyond that the dairy,
over which Bessy slept; her little chamber
window opening just above the sloping roof of
the back kitchen. There were neither blinds
nor shutters to any of the windows, either up-
stairs or down; the house was built of stone,
and there was heavy framework of the same
material round the little casement windows, and
the long, low window of the houseplace was
divided by what, in grander dwellings would be
called mullions.

By nine o'clock this night of which I am
speaking, all had gone up-stairs to bed: it was
even later than usual, for the burning of candles
was regarded so much in the light of extravagance,
that the household kept early hours even
for country-folk. But somehow this evening,
Bessy could not sleep, although in general she
was in deep slumber five minutes after her head
touched the pillow. Her thoughts ran on the
chances for John Kirkby's cow, and a little fear lest
the disorder might be epidemic, and spread to
their own cattle. Across all these homely cares
came a vivid, uncomfortable recollection of the
way in which the door latch went up and down
without any sufficient agency to account for it.
She felt more sure now, than she had done
downstairs, that it was a real movement and no effect
of her imagination. She wished that it had not
happened just when her uncle was reading, that
she might at once have gone quick to the door,
and convinced herself of the cause. As it was,
her thoughts ran uneasily on the supernatural;
and thence to Benjamin, her dear cousin and
playfellow, her early lover. She had long given
him up as lost for ever to her, if not actually
dead; but this very giving him up for ever
involved a free, full forgiveness of all his wrongs to
her. She thought tenderly of him, as of one who
might have been led astray in his later years,
but who existed rather in her recollection as the
innocent child, the spirited lad, the handsome,
dashing young man. If John Kirkby's quiet
attentions had ever betrayed his wishes to Bessy—
if indeed he ever had any wishes on the subject—
her first feeling would have been to compare his
weather-beaten, middle-aged face and figure with
the face and figure she remembered well, but
never more expected to see in this life. So
thinking, she became very restless, and weary of
bed, and, after long tossing and turning, ending
in a belief that she should never get to sleep at
all that night, she went off soundly and suddenly.

As suddenly was she wide awake, sitting up in
bed, listening to some noise that must have
awakened her, but which was not repeated for some
time. Surely it was in her uncle's room—her uncle
was up; but for a minute or two there was no
further sound. Then she heard him open his door,
and go down stairs, with hurried, stumbling steps.
She now thought that her aunt must be ill, and
hastily sprang out of bed, and was putting on
her petticoat with hurried, trembling hands, and
had just opened her chamber door, when she
heard the front door undone, and a scuffle, as of
the feet of several people, and many rude,
passionate words, spoken hoarsely below the breath.
Quick as thought she understood it all—the