n article of
furniture in the place that was not absolutely necessary; what there was
was clean. The girl herself was clean, middle-sized, and dressed in
garments that were old and worn; there was about her appearance a
certain brightness and quickness, which is the best part of beauty and
grace. The very hair itself, turning black and curly, from the temples,
seemed to lie glossy and smooth by reason of character that willed that
it should lie so.

One small coal-oil lamp was the light of the house. When Ann had closed
doors and windows she took it up and went into the bedroom. Neither room
was small; there was a shadowy part round their edges which the lamp did
not brighten. In the dimmer part of this inner room was a bed, on which
a fair young girl was sleeping.

A curious thing now occurred. Ann, placing herself between the lamp and
the window, deliberately went through a pantomime of putting herself to
bed. She took care that the shadow of the brushing of her hair should be
seen upon the window-curtain. She measured the distance, and threw her
silhouette clearly upon it while she took off one or two of her outer
garments. Her face had resolution and nervous eagerness written in it,
but there was nothing of inward disquiet there; she was wholly satisfied
in her own mind as to what she was doing. It was not a very profound
mind, perhaps, but it was like a weapon burnished by constant and proper
use.

She removed her shadow from the window-curtain when she removed her lamp
to the bedside. She employed herself there for a minute or two in
putting on the clothes she had taken off, and in tightly fastening up
the hair that she had loosened; then she put out the lamp and got into
bed. The wooden bedstead creaked, and rubbed against the side of the
house as she turned herself upon it. The creaking and rubbing could be
heard on the other side of the wall.

There was a man walking like a sentry outside who did hear. It was Bart
Toyner, the constable.

After he heard the bed creak he still waited awhile, walking slowly
round the house in silence and darkness. Then, as he passed the side
where the bedroom was, there came the sound of a slight sleeping snore,
repeated as regularly as the breath might come and go in a woman's
breast.

After a while Toyner retreated with noiseless steps, standing still when
he had moved away about fifty paces, looking at the house again with
careful, suspicious eyes; then, as if satisfied