distended and fixed upon the window, she waits, froze with horror. The
pattering and clattering of the nails continue. No word is spoken, and
now she fancies she can trace the darker form of that figure against the
window, and she can see the long arms moving to and fro, feeling for
some mode of entrance. What strange light is that which now gradually
creeps up into the air? red and terrible--brighter and brighter it
grows. The lightning has set fire to a mill, and the reflection of the
rapidly consuming building falls upon that long window. There can be no
mistake. The figure is there, still feeling for an entrance, and
clattering against the glass with its long nails, that appear as if the
growth of many years had been untouched. She tries to scream again but a
choking sensation comes over her, and she cannot. It is too
dreadful--she tries to move--each limb seems weighed down by tons of
lead--she can but in a hoarse faint whisper cry,--

"Help--help--help--help!"

And that one word she repeats like a person in a dream. The red glare of
the fire continues. It throws up the tall gaunt figure in hideous relief
against the long window. It shows, too, upon the one portrait that is in
the chamber, and that portrait appears to fix its eyes upon the
attempting intruder, while the flickering light from the fire makes it
look fearfully life-like. A small pane of glass is broken, and the form
from without introduces a long gaunt hand, which seems utterly destitute
of flesh. The fastening is removed, and one-half of the window, which
opens like folding doors, is swung wide open upon its hinges.

And yet now she could not scream--she could not move.
"Help!--help!--help!" was all she could say. But, oh, that look of
terror that sat upon her face, it was dreadful--a look to haunt the