the forest-trees lying straight along each side, and their deep-green
foliage mirrored to blackness in the burnished surface of the moat
below--and the broken sun-dial at the end nearest the hall--and the
heron, standing on one leg at the water's edge, lazily looking down
for fish--the lonely and desolate house scarce needed the broken
windows, the weeds on the door-sill, the broken shutter softly
flapping to and fro in the twilight breeze, to fill up the picture of
desertion and decay. I lingered about the place until the growing
darkness warned me on. And then I passed along the path, cut by the
orders of the last lady of Starkey Manor-House, that led me to
Bridget's cottage. I resolved at once to see her; and, in spite of
closed doors--it might be of resolved will--she should see me. So I
knocked at her door, gently, loudly, fiercely. I shook it so
vehemently that a length the old hinges gave way, and with a crash it
fell inwards, leaving me suddenly face to face with Bridget--I, red,
heated, agitated with my so long baffled efforts--she, stiff as any
stone, standing right facing me, her eyes dilated with terror, her
ashen lips trembling, but her body motionless. In her hands she held
her crucifix, as if by that holy symbol she sought to oppose my
entrance. At sight of me, her whole frame relaxed, and she sank back
upon a chair. Some mighty tension had given way. Still her eyes
looked fearfully into the gloom of the outer air, made more opaque by
the glimmer of the lamp inside, which she had placed before the
picture of the Virgin.

"Is she there?" asked Bridget, hoarsely.

"No! Who? I am alone. You remember me."

"Yes," replied she, still terror stricken. "But she--that creature--