By and by she fell into a heavy slumber.

As the afternoon wore slowly away, Mrs.Twitt, on neighbourly thoughts intent, came up to the cottage, eager to hear all the news concerning "old David"-- but she found the kitchen deserted; and peeping into the bedroom adjoining, saw Mary lying there fast asleep, with Charlie curled up beside her.
"She's just dead beat and tired out for sure!" and Mrs.Twitt stole softly away again on tip-toe.

"'Twould be real cruel to wake her.

I'll put a bit on the kitchen fire to keep it going, and take myself off.
There's plenty of time to hear all the news to-morrow." So, being left undisturbed, Mary slept on and on--and when she at last awoke it was quite dark.

Dark save for the glimmer of the moon which shone with a white vividness through the lattice window--shedding on the room something of the same ghostly light as on the night when Helmsley died.