hanging
a cloth over that also. She was one of those people who, if they have
to work harder than their neighbors, prefer to keep the necessity a
secret as far as possible; and but for the slight sounds of
wood-splintering which came from within, no wayfarer would have
perceived that here the cottager did not sleep as elsewhere.

Eleven, twelve, one o'clock struck; the heap of spars grew higher, and
the pile of chips and ends more bulky. Even the light on the hill had
now been extinguished; but still she worked on. When the temperature
of the night without had fallen so low as to make her chilly, she
opened a large blue umbrella to ward off the draught from the door.
The two sovereigns confronted her from the looking-glass in such a
manner as to suggest a pair of jaundiced eyes on the watch for an
opportunity. Whenever she sighed for weariness she lifted her gaze
towards them, but withdrew it quickly, stroking her tresses with her
fingers for a moment, as if to assure herself that they were still
secure. When the clock struck three she arose and tied up the spars
she had last made in a bundle resembling those that lay against the
wall.

She wrapped round her a long red woollen cravat and opened the door.
The night in all its fulness met her flatly on the threshold, like the
very brink of an absolute void, or the antemundane Ginnung-Gap believed
in by her Teuton forefathers. For her eyes were fresh from the blaze,
and here there was no street-lamp or lantern to form a kindly
transition between the inner glare and the outer dark. A lingering
wind brought to her ear the creaking sound of two over-crowded branches
in the neighboring wood which were rubbing each other into wounds, and
other vocalized sorrows of the trees, together with the screech of
owls, and the fluttering tumble of some awkward wood-pigeon
ill-balanced on its roosting-bough.

But the pupils of her young eyes soon expanded, and she could see well
enough for her purpose. Taking a bundle of spars under each arm, and
guided by the serrated line of tree-tops against the sky, she went some
hundred yards or more down the lane till she reached a long open shed,
carpeted around with the dead leaves that lay about everywhere. Night,
that strange personality, which within walls brings ominous
introspectiveness and self-distrust, but under the open sky banishes
such subjective anxieties as too trivial for thought, inspired Marty
South with a less perturbe