d the 'house' door for her; 'ef
you want ayder ov oos, you just call oot--sharp! Mrs. Irwin, she'll stay
in wi' ye--she's not afeeard!'

The superstitious excitement which the looks and gestures of the old
man expressed, touched Catherine's imagination, and she entered the room
with an inward shiver.

Mary Backhouse lay raised high on her pillows, talking to herself or
to imaginary other persons, with eyes wide open but vacant, and
senses conscious of nothing but the dream-world in which the mind was
wandering. Catherine sat softly down beside her, unnoticed, thankful for
the chances of disease. If this delirium lasted till the ghost-hour--the
time of twilight, that is to say, which would begin about half-past
eight, and the duration of which would depend on the cloudiness of the
evening--was over; or, better still, till midnight were past; the strain
on the girl's agonized senses might be relieved, and death come at last
in softer, kinder guise.

'Has she been long like this?' she asked softly of the neighbor who sat
quietly knitting by the evening light.

The woman looked up and thought.

'Ay!' she said. 'Aa came in at tea-time, an' she's been maistly taakin'
ivver sence!'

The incoherent whisperings and restless movements, which obliged
Catherine constantly to replace the coverings over the poor wasted and
fevered body, went on for sometime. Catherine noticed presently, with a
little thrill, that the light was beginning to change. The weather was
growing darker and stormier; the wind shook the house in gusts; and the
farther shoulder of High Fell, seen in distorted outline through the
casemented window, was almost hidden by the trailing rain clouds. The
mournful western light coming from behind the house struck the river
here and there; almost everything else was gray and dark. A mountain
ash, just outside the window, brushed the panes every now and then; and
in the silence, every surrounding sound--the rare movements in the next
room, the voices of quarrelling children round the door of a neighboring
house, the far-off barking of dogs--made itself distinctly audible.

Suddenly Catherine, sunk in painful reverie, noticed that the mutterings
from the bed had ceased for some little time. She turned her chair, and
was startled to find those weird eyes fixed with recognition on herself.
There was a curious, malign intensity, a curious triumph in them.

'It must be--eight o'clock'--said the gasping voice--'_eight