You must keep the door locked."
Armed with this mandate, I went on duty the following night with a
somewhat lighter heart, and, after locking the door, once again sat by
the fire. During the day there had been a heavy fall of snow; the wind
had abated, and the streets were now as silent as the grave.
Ten, eleven, and twelve o'clock struck, and my patient slept
tranquilly. At a quarter to one, however, I was abruptly roused from a
reverie by a sob, a sob of fear and agony that proceeded from the bed.
I looked, and there--there, seated in the same posture as on the
previous evening, was the child. I sprang to my feet with an
exclamation of amazement. She raised her hand, and, as before, I
collapsed--spellbound--paralysed. No words of mine can convey all the
sensations I experienced as I sat there, forced to listen to the
moaning and groaning of the woman whose fate had been entrusted to my
keeping. Every second she grew worse, and each sound rang in my ears
like the hammering of nails in her coffin. How long I endured such
torment I cannot say, I dare not think, for, though the clock was
within a few feet of me, I never once thought of looking at it. At
last the child rose, and, moving slowly from the bed, advanced with
bowed head towards the window. The spell was broken. With a cry of
indignation I literally bounded over the carpet and faced the
intruder.
"Who are you?" I hissed. "Tell me your name instantly! How dare you
enter this room without my permission?"
As I spoke she slowly raised her head.
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