Once she had such a fancy of his being in the
next room, hiding - though she knew quite well what a distempered
fancy it was, and had no belief in it - that she forced herself to go
there, for her own conviction. But in vain. The room resumed its
shadowy terrors, the moment she left it; and she had no more power to
divest herself of these vague impressions of dread, than if they had
been stone giants, rooted in the solid earth.
It was almost dark, and she was sitting near the window, with her
head upon her hand, looking down, when, sensible of a sudden increase
in the gloom of the apartment, she raised her eyes, and uttered an
involuntary cry. Close to the glass, a pale scared face gazed in;
vacantly, for an instant, as searching for an object; then the eyes
rested on herself, and lighted up.
'Let me in! Let me in! I want to speak to you!' and the hand
rattled on the glass.
She recognised immediately the woman with the long dark hair, to
whom she had given warmth, food, and shelter, one wet night. Naturally
afraid of her, remembering her violent behaviour, Harriet, retreating
a little from the window, stood undecided and alarmed.
'Let me in! Let me speak to you! I am thankful - quiet - humble -
anything you like. But let me speak to you.'
The vehement manner of the entreaty, the earnest expression of the
face, the trembling of the two hands that were raised imploringly, a
certain dread and terror in the voice akin to her own condition at the
moment, prevailed with Harriet.
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