For just when she came between me and the blaze she uttered a low cry and shrank aside--so quickly that she almost stepped on the hearth.

The next moment she turned her back to me, and was stooping whispering in the housewife's ear.

A stranger might have thought that she had trodden on a hot ember.
But another idea, and a very strange one, came into my mind; and I stood up silently.

The woman's back was towards me, but something in her height, her shape, the pose of her head hidden as it was by her shawl, seemed familiar.

I waited while she hung over the fire whispering, and while the goodwife slowly filled her pitcher out of the great black pot.
But when she turned to go, I took a step forward so as to bar her way.
And our eyes met.
I could not see her features; they were lost in the shadow of the hood.
But I saw a shiver run through her from head to foot.