Years before, an unknown workman in South Boston, casting an iron pillar upon its core, had suffered it to “float” a little, a very little more, till the thin, unequal side cooled to the measure of an eighth of an inch.  That man had provided Asenath’s way of escape.

She went out at noon with her luncheon, and found a place upon the stairs, away from the rest, and sat there awhile, with her eyes upon the river, thinking.  She could not help wondering a little, after all, why God need to have made her so unlike the rest of his fair handiwork.  Del came bounding by, and nodded at her carelessly.  Two young Irish girls, sisters,—­the beauties of the mill,—­magnificently colored creatures,—­were singing a little love-song together, while they tied on their hats to go home.

“There are such pretty things in the world!” thought poor Sene.

Did anybody speak to her after the girls were gone?  Into her heart these words fell suddenly, “He hath no form nor comeliness. His visage was so marred more than any man.”

They clung to her fancy all the afternoon.  She liked the sound of them.  She wove them in with her black and dun colored threads.

The wind began at last to blow chilly up the stair-cases, and in at the cracks; the melted drifts out under the walls to harden; the sun dipped above the dam; the mill dimmed slowly; shadows crept down between the frames.

“It’s time for lights,” said Meg Match, and swore a little at her spools.

Sene, in the pauses of her thinking, heard snatches of the girls’ talk.

“Going to ask out to-morrow, Meg?”

“Guess so, yes; me and Bob Smith we thought we’d go to Boston, and come up in the theatre train.”

“Del Ivory, I want the pattern of your zouave.”

“Did I go to church?  No, you don’t catch me!  If I slave all the week, I’ll do what I please on Sunday.”

“Hush-sh!  There’s the boss looking over here!”

“Kathleen Donnavon, be still with your ghost-stories.  There’s one thing in the world I never will hear about, and that’s dead people.”

“Del,” said Sene, “I think to-morrow—­”

She stopped.  Something strange had happened to her frame; it jarred, buzzed, snapped; the threads untwisted and flew out of place.

“Curious!” she said, and looked up.

Looked up to see her overseer turn wildly, clap his hands to his head, and fall; to hear a shriek from Del that froze her blood; to see the solid ceiling gape above her; to see the walls and windows stagger; to see iron pillars reel, and vast machinery throw up its helpless, giant arms, and a tangle of human faces blanch and writhe!

She sprang as the floor sunk.  As pillar after pillar gave way, she bounded up an inclined plane, with the gulf yawning after her.  It gained upon her, leaped at her, caught her; beyond were the stairs and an open door; she threw out her arms, and struggled on with hands and knees, tripped in the gearing, and saw, as she fell, a square, oaken beam above her yield and crash; it was of a fresh red color; she dimly wondered why,—­as she felt her hands-slip, her knees slide, support, time, place, and reason, go utterly out.