possessed only the remnant of one now, but she still sang in the
choir, because nobody had the strength of mind to request her to
resign. Sunday after Sunday she stood in her place and raised her
voice, which was horribly hoarse and hollow, in the sacred tunes, and
people shivered and endured. Miss Hart never missed a Sunday service,
a choir rehearsal, or a Thursday prayer-meeting, and she did not on
that Thursday evening.

Hannah went to her door and listened. She heard laughter down in the
room which had been the bar but was now the office. A cloud of
tobacco smoke floated from there through the corridor. Hannah drew it
in with a sense of delicious peace. Her lover smoked, and somehow the
odor seemed to typify to her domestic happiness and mystery. She
listened long, looking often at the clock on the wall. "She must be
gone," she thought, meaning Miss Hart. She was almost sure that the
figure which she had seen flitting under her window in the moonlight
was that of the school-teacher. Finally she could not resist the
temptation any longer. She hurried down the corridor until she
reached No. 20. She tapped and waited, then she tapped and waited
again. There was no response. Hannah tried the door. It was locked.
She took her chambermaid's key and unlocked the door, looking around
her fearfully. Then she opened the door and slid in. She locked the
door behind her. Then straight to the closet she went, and that
beautiful lace robe seemed to float out towards her. Hannah slipped
off her own gown, and in a few moments she stood before the
looking-glass, transformed.

She was so radiant, so pleased, that a flush came out on her thick
skin; her eyes gleamed blue. The lace gown fitted her very well. She
turned this way and that. After all, her neck was not bad, not as