On the left-hand side of the room was an arched recess, in which, no doubt, had stood at one time a sideboard, or some such piece of furniture.  There was no occupant of the room, however, and I grew calmer as I stood before the fire, which drew from my wet clothes a cloud of steam.  The ruddy fingers of the fire-gleam playing upon the walls made the colours of the pictures seem bright as the tints of stained glass.  The pathetic message of those flickering rays flowed into my soul.  The red mantle of the Prodigal Son, in which he was feeding the swine, shone as though it had been soaked in sorrow and blood-red sin.  The house was apparently empty; the tension of my passion became for the first time relaxed, and I passed into a strange mood of pathos, dreamy, but yet acute, in which Winifred’s fate, and my mother’s harshness, and my father’s scarred breast, seemed all a mingled mystery of reminiscent pain.

I had not stood more than a minute, however, when I was startled into a very different mood.  I thought I heard a sobbing noise, which seemed to me to come from some one overhead, some one lying upon the boards of the room above me.  I was rooted to the spot where I stood, for the sob seemed scarcely human, and yet it seemed to be hers.  A new feeling about Winifred’s madness came upon me.  I recalled Mivart’s horrible description of the mimicry.  My God! what was I about to see?  I dared not turn and go upstairs:  the fire and the singing tea-kettle were, at least, companions.  But something impelled me to take the bow and draw it across the crwth-strings.  Presently I thought I heard a door overhead softly open, and this was followed by the almost inaudible creak of a light footstep descending the stairs.  With paralysed pulses I kept my eyes fixed on the half-open door, in the certainty of seeing her pass along the little passage leading from the staircase to the front door.  But as I heard the dear footsteps descend stair after stair my horror left me, and I nearly began to sob myself.  My thoughts now were all for her safety.  I slipped into the recess, fearing to take her by surprise.

Soon the slim girlish figure passed into the room.  And as I saw her glide along I was stunned, as though I had not expected to see her, as though I had not known the footstep coming down the stairs.

With her eyes fixed on the fireplace, she brushed past me without perceiving me, took a chair, and sat down in front of the fire, her elbows resting on her knees, and her face meditatively sunk between her hands.  Her sobbing bad ceased, and unless my ears deceived me, had given place to an occasional soft happy gurgle of childish laughter.