A rustle would have made her scream--but all was still as death, so profoundly quiet, that the very hush and silence became a new cause of disquietude, and longing for some cheerful sound to break it, she would have spoken aloud but from a fear of hearing her own voice.

A book lay before her, and she essayed to read it, but in vain.

She was ever glancing fearfully round--ever listening intently.

This state could not endure for ever, and feeling a drowsiness steal over her she yielded to it, and at length dropped asleep in her chair.

Her dreams, however, were influenced by her mental condition, and slumber was no refuge, as promised by Mistress Nutter, from the hauntings of terror.
At last a jarring sound aroused her, and she found she had been awakened by the clock striking twelve.