step of the way by dark as well as by daylight, but the night was clear
and there would be the light of the dying moon,

Her own clouded skies were clearing. Dimly she began to perceive
herself as a part of things, not set aside helplessly to suffer
eternally, but in some sort of relation to the rest of the world.

On the Sunday before the catastrophe, Miss Evelina had been to church,
and even yet, she remembered fragments of the sermon. "God often uses
people to carry out His plans," the minister had said. At the time, it
had not particularly impressed her, and she had never gone to church
again. If she had listened further, she might have heard the minister
say that the devil was wont to do the same thing.

Minute by minute, the hours passed. Miss Evelina's heart was beating
painfully, but, all unknowingly, she had entered upon a new phase. She
had turned in the winding sheet of her own weaving, and her hands were
clutching at the binding fabric.

At last, the train came in. It did not stop, but thundered through the
sleeping village, shrieking as it went. The sound died into a distant
rumble, then merged into the stillness of the night. Miss Evelina rose
from her chair, put on her wraps, slipped the jewel case into her bag,
and went out, closely veiled.

The light of the waning moon was dim and, veiled as she was, she felt
rather than saw the way. Steadfastly, she went down the steep road,
avoiding the sidewalk, for she remembered that Miss Mehitable's ears
were keen. Past the crossroads, to the right, down into the village,
across the tracks, then sharply to the left--the way was the same, but