It was not without an inward tremor that Janet heard the clock strike
twelve. Sister Agnes had insisted on accompanying her part of the way
upstairs, and would, in fact, have gone the whole distance with her, had
not Janet insisted on going forward alone. In a single breath, as it
seemed to her, she ran up the remaining stairs, unlocked the door, and
entered the room. Her nerves were not sufficiently composed to allow of
her making use of the _prie-dieu_. All she cared for just then was to
get through her duty as quickly as possible, and return in safety to the
world of living beings downstairs. She set her teeth, and by a supreme
effort of will went through the small duty that was required of her
steadily but swiftly. Her face was never turned away from the coffin the
whole time; and when she had finished her task she walked backwards to
the door, opened it, walked backwards out, and in another breath was
downstairs, and safe in the protecting arms of Sister Agnes.

Next night she insisted upon going entirely alone, and made so light of
the matter that Sister Agnes no longer opposed her wish to make the
midnight visit to the Black Room a part of her ordinary duty. But
inwardly Janet could never quite overcome her secret awe of the room and
its silent occupant. She always dreaded the coming of the hour that took
her there, and when her task was over, she never closed the door without
a feeling of relief. In this case, custom with her never bred
familiarity. To the last occasion of her going there she went the prey
of hidden fears--fears of she knew not what, which she derided to
herself even while they made her their victim. There was a morbid thread
running through the tissue of her nerves, which by intense force of will
might be kept from growing and spreading, but which no effort of hers
could quite pluck out or eradicate.