They had been a trouble in the house for a long time past, poison had been laid for them and they had refused to take it.

They had had, perhaps, some fear of the Reverend Charles, at any rate they scampered and scurried now behind the wainscoting as though conscious of their release.

"Even the rats are glad," Maggie thought to herself.

In the uncertain candle-light the fancy seized her that one rat, a very large one, had crept out from his hole, crawled on to the bed, and now sat on the sheet looking at her father.

It would be a horrible thing did the rat walk across her father's beard, and yet for her life she could not move.