It was a trifle then; yet, when she looked back afterwards, the trifle was all that gave the day a name.

The room shook, as I said, with the thunderous, incessant sound of the engines and the looms; she scarcely heard it, being used to it.

Once, however, another sound came between,--an iron tread, passing through the long wooden corridor,--so firm and measured that it sounded like the monotonous beatings of a clock.

She heard it through the noise in the far distance; it came slowly nearer, up to the door without,--passed it, going down the echoing plank walk.

The girl sat quietly, looking out at the dead brick wall.