in an old dress of rich purple silk as stiff as cardboard, with a violet
pattern; there was a massive bracelet upon her left wrist, and a gold
arrow stuck through her thick grey hair twisted over the back of her
head. It was like an apparition out of the ages past.

Still the Plague could have had no hostile intentions towards me, or
she might easily have taken advantage of my sleep to have put them in
execution.

That thought was beginning to give me some confidence, when suddenly she
rose from her seat and with slow steps approached my bed, holding in her
hand a torch which she had just lighted. I then observed that her eyes
were fixed and haggard.

I made an effort to rise and cry aloud, but not a muscle of my body would
obey my wishes, not a breath came to my lips; and the old woman, bending
over me between the curtains, fixed her stony stare upon me with a
strange unearthly smile. I wanted to call for help, I wanted to drive her
from me, but her petrifying stare seemed to fascinate and paralyse me,
just as that of the serpent fixes the little bird motionless before it.

During this speechless contemplation minutes seemed like hours. What was
she about to do? I was ready for any event.

Suddenly she turned her head, went round upon her heel, listened, strode
across the room, and opened the door.

At last I recovered a little courage; an effort of the will brought me to
my feet as if I were acted on by a spring; I darted after her footsteps;
she with one hand was holding her torch on high, and with the other kept