ever, and stalked about the house and the neglected garden like an
unquiet spirit, her brow roughened into the deep wrinkles suggestive of
much thought. As the winter came on, bringing with it the long dark
evenings, the old house became more lonely than ever, and an air of
mystery and dread seemed to hang over it and brood in its empty rooms
and dark corridors. The deep silence of night was broken by strange
noises for which neither the wind nor the rats could be held
accountable. Old Martha, seated in her distant kitchen, heard strange
sounds upon the stairs, and once, upon hurrying to them, fancied that
she saw a dark figure squatting upon the landing, though a subsequent
search with candle and spectacles failed to discover anything. Eunice
was disturbed by several vague incidents, and, as she suffered from a
complaint of the heart, rendered very ill by them. Even Tabitha
admitted a strangeness about the house, but, confident in her piety and
virtue, took no heed of it, her mind being fully employed in another
direction.

Since the death of her sister all restraint upon her was removed, and
she yielded herself up entirely to the stern and hard rules enforced by
avarice upon its devotees. Her housekeeping expenses were kept rigidly
separate from those of Eunice and her food limited to the coarsest
dishes, while in the matter of clothes, the old servant was by far the
better dressed. Seated alone in her bedroom this uncouth, hard-featured
creature revelled in her possessions, grudging even the expense of the
candle-end which enabled her to behold them. So completely did this
passion change her that both Eunice and Martha became afraid of her, and
lay awake in their beds night after night trembling at the chinking of
the coins at her unholy vigils.

One day Eunice ventured to remonstrate. "Why don't you bank your money,