, the assemblage of black-clad relatives, all that makes up the
woeful pomp of funerals. They raised their eyes, also, to the sun-gilt
spire of the church, and wondered that no clang proceeded from its
bell, which had always tolled till now when this figure appeared in
the light of day. But none had heard that a corpse was to be borne to
its home that afternoon, nor was there any token of a funeral except
the apparition of the Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet.

"What may this portend?" asked each man of his neighbor.

All smiled as they put the question, yet with a certain trouble in
their eyes, as if pestilence, or some other wide calamity, were
prognosticated by the untimely intrusion among the living of one whose
presence had always been associated with death and woe. What a comet
is to the earth was that sad woman to the town. Still she moved on,
while the hum of surprise was hushed at her approach, and the proud
and the humble stood aside that her white garment might not wave
against them. It was a long, loose robe of spotless purity. Its wearer
appeared very old, pale, emaciated and feeble, yet glided onward
without the unsteady pace of extreme age. At one point of her course a
little rosy boy burst forth from a door and ran with open arms toward
the ghostly woman, seeming to expect a kiss from her bloodless lips.
She made a slight pause, fixing her eye upon him with an expression of
no earthly sweetness, so that the child shivered and stood awestruck
rather than affrighted while the Old Maid passed on. Perhaps her
garment might have been polluted even by an infant's touch; perhaps
her kiss would have been death to the sweet boy within the year.

"She is but a shadow," whispered the superstitious. "The child put
forth his arms and could not grasp her robe."

The wonder was increased when the Old Maid passed beneath the porch of
the deserted mansion, ascended the moss-covered steps, lifted the iron
knocker and gave three raps. The people could only conjecture that
some old remembrance, troubling her bewildered brain, had impelled the
poor woman hither to visit the friends of her youth--all gone from
their home long since and for ever unless their ghosts still haunted
it, fit company for the Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet.

An elderly man approached the steps, and, reverently uncovering his
gray locks, essayed to explain the matter.

"None, madam," said he, "have dwelt in this house these fifteen years
agone--no,