She called her back and said to her: "Maybe you run greater risks
if you wander alone about the streets and alleys than if you come
to me. You may stay with me today and wash the cups and dishes,
and then I shall see what you are fit for."

The hostess took her to a little closet she had contrived beyond
the hall of the tavern. It was no bigger than a cupboard and had
neither window nor loophole, but was only lighted by a hatch in
the wall of the public room.

"Stand here today," said the hostess to the maid, "and wash me all
the cups and dishes I pass you through this hatch, then I shall
see whether I can keep you in my service."

The maiden went into the closet, and she moved so silently that
the hostess thought it was like a dead woman slipping into her
grave.

She stood the whole day and spoke to none, nor ever leaned her
head through the hatch to look at the folk who came and went in
the tavern. And she did not touch the food that was set before
her. Nobody heard her make a clatter as she washed, but whenever
the hostess held out her hand to the hatch, she passed out clean
cups and dishes without a speck on them.

But when the hostess took them to set them out on the table, they
were so cold that she thought they would sear the skin off her
fingers. And she shuddered and said: "It is as though I took them
from the cold hands of Death himself."