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"Come to bed. What would you do there, lying like a dog? How

silly to refuse comforts when you can have them!"

"No, no, leave me to myself."

"Well, remember it is your own fault; if you wish to come to bed,

you can-I have left room enough for you; remember I have asked

you very often." Thus saying, she drew the clothes over her, and

soon all was profound silence.

Lucy remained motionless, with her face buried in her hands,

which rested on her knees; she was neither awake nor asleep, but

in a dreamy state of the imagination, painful, vague, and

changeful. At first, she recalled with something of

self-possession the minutest circumstances of this horrible day;

then her reason for a moment forsook its throne, vainly

struggling against the phantoms conjured by uncertainty and

terror; at last, weary and exhausted, she sunk on the floor, in a

state approaching to, and resembling, sleep. But suddenly she

awoke, as at an internal call, and strove to recall her scattered

senses, to know where she was, and why she had been brought

thither. She heard a noise, and listened; it was the heavy

breathing of the old woman, in a deep slumber; she opened her

eyes on the objects around her, which the flickering of the lamp,

now dying in its socket, rendered confused and indistinct.