Yes, she had drawn up the blind to admit the light when it should be dawn, and there, between the foot of the bed and the dark casement, it crouched and slunk along, groping its way with noiseless hands, and stealing round the bed.

She had no voice to cry for help, no power to move, but lay still, watching it.
On it came--on, silently and stealthily, to the bed's head.

The breath so near her pillow, that she shrunk back into it, lest those wandering hands should light upon her face.

Back again it stole to the window--then turned its head towards her.
The dark form was a mere blot upon the lighter darkness of the room, but she saw the turning of the head, and felt and knew how the eyes looked and the ears listened.

There it remained, motionless as she.
At length, still keeping the face towards her, it busied its hands in something, and she heard the chink of money.
Then, on it came again, silent and stealthy as before, and replacing the garments it had taken from the bedside, dropped upon its hands and knees, and crawled away.