her truckle-bed, evidently listening, and was on the point of starting
out of it on seeing that Margaret's face was pale, when Margaret put her
finger on her lips, and motioned to her to lie down. Hester was asleep,
with her sleeping infant on her arm. Margaret set down the light, and
leaned over her, to take the watch from its hook at the head of the bed.

"Are you still up?" said Hester, drowsily, and just opening her eyes.
"What do you want? It must be very late."

"Nearly half-past twelve, by your watch. I am sorry I disturbed you.
Good-night."

As she withdrew with the watch in her hand, she whispered to Morris:

"Lie still. Don't be uneasy. I will come again presently." So, in a
few minutes, as seemed to intently listening ears, the house was clear
of the intruders. Within a quarter of an hour Margaret had beckoned
Morris out of Hester's room, and had explained the case to her. They
went round the house, and found that all the little plate they had was
gone, and the cheese from the pantry. Morris's cloth cloak was left
hanging on its pin, and even Edward's old hat. From these
circumstances, and from the dialect of the only speaker, Margaret
thought the thieves must be country people from the neighbourhood, who
could not wear the old clothes of the gentry without danger of
detection. They had come in from the surgery, whose outer door was
sufficiently distant from the inhabited rooms of the house to be forced
without the noise being heard. Morris and Margaret barricaded this door
as well as they could, with such chests and benches as they were able to
move without making themselves heard up-stairs: and then Morris, at
Margaret's earnest desire, stole back to bed. Anything rather than
alarm Hester.

While they were below, Maria had put on more coals, and restored some
order and comfort to the table and the fireside. She concluded that
sleep was out of the question for this night. For some moments after
Margaret came and sat down by her, neither of them spoke. At length
Margaret said, half laughing:

"That you should have come here for rest this night, of all nights in
the year!"

"I am glad it happened so. Yes; indeed, I am. I know it must have been
a comfort to you to have some one with you, though only poor lame me.
And I am glad on my own account too, I assure you. Such a visitation is
not half so dreadful as I had fancied--not worth half the fear I have
spent upon it all my life. I