Then she stepped across the threshold, the door was closed behind her, and she heard the key turn in the lock.
Truly her work had now begun.

She was incarcerated in a plague-stricken house, and this time by her own will.
For the first few seconds she stood still in the dark entry, unable to see her way before her; but soon her eyes grew used to the dim light, and she saw that there was a door on one side of the passage and a steep flight of stairs leading upwards, and it was from some upper portion of the house from which the sound of crying proceeded.
Just glancing into the lower room, which she found quite empty, and which was unexpectedly clean, she mounted the rickety staircase, the wailing sound growing more distinct every step she took.

The house was a very tiny one even for these small tenements, and there were only two little rooms upon the upper floor.

It was from one of these that the crying was proceeding, but Gertrude could not be sure which.
With a beating heart she opened the first door, and saw a sight which went to her heart.

Upon a narrow bed lay two little forms wrapped in the same sheet, rigidly still, waiting their last transit to the common grave.