pedlar's chamber, and showed her something dark and slimy that was
flowing slowly--slowly from under it into her room. She did not cry out
or fall senseless. She bent down and put her hand into it, and saw that
it was blood--her poor old friend's life-blood--for she knew now beyond
all doubt that he had been murdered for the sake of his supposed wealth.

She knew she was helpless till morning. To get out of the house was
impossible, for to do so she must pass down the stairs and through the
room below, where probably they were either sleeping or watching. If she
had courage and could only let them think she knew and suspected
nothing, she might still escape. Surely they would not dare to murder
her also, for they knew her husband would be expecting her next day, and
would be looking for her if she did not come.

With another prayer, this time uttered shiveringly, for the soul of the
pedlar, she nerved herself to get into bed again, and lay there till
morning with her child against her heart; gazing with staring, sleepless
eyes at the door which divided her from that awful room; keeping surely
the most terrible vigil that ever woman kept.

At last the morning dawned, clear and bright. A frost had set in, and
the roads were clean and hard, the sky was blue. If it had not been for
that ghastly stain that had crept across the far end of her room, she
might almost have thought that the events of the night had been but a
fearful dream.

Her child awoke, fresh and smiling, and she could hear them stirring in
the living room below. She felt that now, indeed, the hardest part of
her task was still before her. On a little table by the side of her bed
there was a small, cracked looking-glass. When she was dressed she