sepulchre of the fireplace with dull rumblings and muffled moans. At
times the hot-air drum in the corner seemed to expand as with some
pent-up emotion. Strange currents of air crossed the empty room like the
passage of unseen spirits, and she even fancied she heard whispers at
the window. This caused her to rise and open it, when she found that the
sleet had given way to a dry feathery snow that was swarming through
the slits of the shutter; a faint reflection from the already whitened
fences glimmered in the panes. She shut the window hastily, with a
little shiver of cold. Where was Demorest in this storm? Would it
stop him? She thought with pride now of the dominant energy that had
frightened her, and knew it would not. But her husband?--what kept him?
It was twelve o'clock; he had seldom stayed out so late before. During
the first half hour of her reflections she had been relieved by his
absence; she had even believed that he had met Demorest in the town,
and was not alarmed by it, for she knew that the latter would avoid
any further confidence, and cut short any return to it. But why had not
Edward returned? For an instant the terrible thought that something had
happened, and that they might both return together, took possession
of her, and she trembled. But no; Demorest, who had already taken such
extreme measures, could not consistently listen to any suggestion for
delay. As her only danger lay in Demorest's presence, the absence of her
husband caused her more undefinable uneasiness than actual alarm.

The room had become cold with the dying out of the dining-room fire that
warmed the drum. She would go to bed. She nevertheless arranged the room
again with a singular impression that she was doing it for the last time
in her present existing circumstances, and placing the lamp on the table
in the hall, went up to her own room. By the light of a single candle
she undressed herself hastily, said her prayers punctiliously, and got
into bed, with an unexpected relief at finding herself still occupying