And now, reader, after this long digression, you can understand my surprise at seeing broad gleams of light reaching out into the darkness from the windows of that north-west chamber, as I breasted the storm on my way to visit the sick child of Mary Jones.

No wonder that I stood still and looked up at those windows, though the rain beat into my face, half blinding me.

The shutters were thrown open, and the curtains drawn partly aside.

I plainly saw shadows on the ceiling and walls as of persons moving about the room.

Did my eyes deceive me?
Was not that the figure of a young girl that stood for a moment at the window trying to pierce with her eyes the thick veil of night?
I was still in doubt when the figure turned away, and only gave me a shadow on the wall.
I lingered in front of the old house for some minutes, but gaining no intelligence of what was passing within, I kept on my way to the humbler dwelling of Mary Jones.