the stairs
leading up into the storeroom, for it was in this passage that the
strange night sounds were heard, which every one had begun to notice,
and speak about in lowered tones. She sang, however, as she went, 'to
keep her courage up'--sang, however, in a subdued voice, the evening
hymn she had so often sung in Barford church:

'Glory to Thee, my God, this night--'

and so it was, I suppose, that she never heard the breathing or motion
of any creature near her till, just as she was loading herself with
flax to carry down, she heard some one--it was Manasseh--say close to
her ear:

'Has the voice spoken yet? Speak, Lois! Has the voice spoken yet to
thee--that speaketh to me day and night, "Marry Lois?"'

She started and turned a little sick, but spoke almost directly in a
brave, clear manner:

'No! Cousin Manasseh. And it never will.'

'Then I must wait yet longer,' he replied, hoarsely, as if to himself.
'But all submission--all submission.'

At last a break came upon the monotony of the long, dark winter. The
parishioners once more raised the discussion whether--the parish
extending as it did--it was not absolutely necessary for Pastor Tappau
to have help. This question had been mooted once before; and then
Pastor Tappau had acquiesced in the necessity, and all had gone on
smoothly for some months after the appointment of his assistant, until
a feeling had sprung up on the part of the elder minister, which might
have been called jealousy of the younger, if so godly a man as Pastor
Tappau could have been supposed to entertain so evil a passion. However
that might be, two parties were speedily formed, the younger and more
ardent being in favour of Mr. Nolan, the elder and more
persistent--and, at the time, the more numerous--clinging to the old
grey-headed, dogmatic Mr. Tappau, who had married them, baptized their
children, and was to them literally as a 'pillar of the church.' So Mr.
Nolan left Salem, carrying away with him, possibly, more hearts than
that of Faith Hickson's; but certainly she had never been the same
creature since.

But now--Christmas, 1691--one or two of the older members of the
congregation being dead, and some who were younger men having come to
settle in Salem--Mr. Tappau being also older, and, some charitably
supposed, wiser--a fresh effort had been made, and Mr. Nolan was
returning to labour in ground apparently smoothed over. Lois had taken
a keen interest in all the proceedi