As the wick flared, she moved over to the door of the room, and tried if the lock and bolt were fastened.

Satisfied as to this, she moved towards me, her wet shroud leaving a trail of moisture on the green carpet.

By this time the wax of the candle had melted sufficiently to let me see her clearly.

She was shaking and quivering as though in an ague; she drew the wet shroud around her piteously.

Instinctively I spoke: "Can I do anything for you ?" She answered, still in English, and in a voice of thrilling, almost piercing sweetness, which seemed somehow to go straight to my heart, and affected me strangely: "Give me warmth." I hurried to the fireplace.