She folded her hands primly, and held up her bonneted head in the
darkness, like some decorous and formal caller who might expect at
any moment to hear the soft, heavy step of the host upon the creaking
stair and his voice in the room. She sat there so all night.

Gradually this steady-headed, unimaginative old woman became
possessed by a legion of morbid fancies, which played like wild fire
over the terrible main fact of the case--the fact that underlay
everything--that she had sinned, that she had gone over from good to
evil, and given up her soul for a handful of gold. Many a time in the
night, voices which her straining fancy threw out, after the manner
of ventriloquism, from her own brain, seemed actually to vibrate
through the house, footsteps pattered, and garments rustled. Often
the phantom noises would swell to a very pandemonium surging upon her
ears; but she sat there rigid and resolute in the midst of it, her
pale old face sharpening out into the darkness. She sat there, and
never stirred until morning broke.

When it was fairly light, she got up, took off her bonnet and shawl,
and found her way into the kitchen. She washed her face and hands at
the sink, and went deliberately to work getting herself some
breakfast. She had a little of her yesterday's lunch left; she
kindled a fire, and made a cup of tea. She found some in a caddy in
the pantry. She set out her meal on the table and drew a chair before
it. She had wound up the kitchen clock, and she listened to its tick
while she ate. She took time, and finished her slight repast to the
last crumb. Then she washed the dishes, and swept and tidied the
kitchen.

When that was done it was still too early for her to go to the