citement and thrilling chat--'The poor master!'
'Oh, the poor man!' 'Oh, la, what's that?' with a start and a peep over
the shoulders. 'And oh, dear, and how in the world will the poor little
misthress ever live over the news?' And so forth, made a principal part
of their talk. There was a good accompaniment of wind outside, and a
soft pelting of snow on the window panes, 'and oh, my dear life, but
wasn't it dark!'

Up went Moggy, with her thick-wicked kitchen candle, to seek repose; and
Betty, resolving not to be long behind, waited only 'to wash up her
plates' and slack down the fire, having made up her mind, for she grew
more nervous in solitude, to share Moggy's bed for that night.

Moggy had not been twenty minutes gone, and her task was nearly ended,
when--'Oh, blessed saints!' murmured Betty, with staring eyes, and
dropping the sweeping-brush on the flags, she heard, or thought she
heard, her master's step, which was peculiar, crossing the floor
overhead.

She listened, herself as pale as a corpse, and nearly as breathless; but
there was nothing now but the muffled gusts of the storm, and the close
soft beat of the snow, so she listened and listened, but nothing came of
it.

''Tis only the vapours,' said Betty, drawing a long breath, and doing
her best to be cheerful; and so she finished her labours, stopping every
now and then to listen, and humming tunes very loud, in fits and starts.
Then it came to her turn to take her candle and go up stairs; she was a
good half-hour later than Moggy--all was quiet within the house--only
the sound of the storm--the creak and rattle of its strain, and the
hurly-burly of the gusts over the roof and chimneys.

Over her shoulder she peered jealously this way and that, as with
flaring candle she climbed the stairs. How black the window looked on
the lobby, with its white patterns of snow flakes in perpetual
succession sliding down the panes. Who could tell what horrid face might
be looking in close to her as she passed, secure in the darkness and
that drifting white lace veil of snow? So nimbly and lightly up the
stairs climbed Betty, the cook.

If listeners seldom hear good of themselves, it is also true that
peepers sometimes see more than they like; and Betty, the cook, as she
reached the landing, glancing askance with ominous curiosity, beheld a
spectacle, the sight of which nearly bereft her of her senses.

Crouching in the deep doorway on the right of the lobby, the