sely the blows and disasters which others, by yielding to them,
do evade, needeth not that we set forth, inasmuch as it is too plain
and demonstrative to require illustration. On that same night, Mause,
awakening from a short and broken slumber, looked on her mistress, and
lo, she was a corpse!

This event, according to the popular belief, would doubtless add
another to the list of Peggy's victims, and was looked upon as a
terrible token from the demon against all who should hereafter have
the temerity or presumption to interfere with her proceedings.

The following day it was noised abroad, and the survivors were mindful
to have the entrance to this fearful chamber walled up, and thus
prevent any further mischief or interference.

Towards eventide, or ere the lights were renewed in the death-chamber,
there came a gentle knock at the hall-door. An aged domestic answered
the summons; but with a scream, she fled as from the face of an enemy.
A footstep was heard in the hall. Slowly it ascended the stairs. They
creaked and groaned, every step seeming to strike with a cold shudder
to the heart. They verily thought that the house was beset by a whole
squadron of infernals, who had sent a messenger for the body of their
mistress. The tramp of the mysterious visitor was heard in the
death-chamber. Moans and bewailings were distinctly audible; and
Mause, who was in the room, came down with a face colourless and wan,
as though she had seen a ghost. She could not articulate, save one
harrowing word--

"William!" she cried, and pointed upwards. Seven years ago had he been
drowned, according to general belief, one fearful night, in crossing
the river by Bromiley or Brunckerley hippin-stones. Nephew and
heir-presumptive to the lady of Waddow, he had left his home that
evening writhing under her malediction; for he had in an evil hour, as
she thought, formed a base-born attachment to an orphan living with
Gaffer Wiswall, and generally looked upon as his daughter. It was this
curse which clave like a band of iron about the breast of the proud
dame of Waddow; for, in the morning light, when there came news to the
hall that he had been seen swept down by the ravening flood--perishing
without hope of succour--she sat as though stupefied, without a murmur
or a tear, and her stricken heart knew not this world's gladness
again. Solitary and friendless, this fair creation seemed blotted out,
and she became fretful and morose. All her ear