The woman pointed to a narrow door built close to the mouth of the oven, and whispered—
"He is in there!"
Katharine recoiled.
"In there, and that fire raging so; God have mercy upon us! it is death!"
"No, not always; not often, I think," answered the woman; "but I never did this work before. The sweat oven has not been used in my time till now. It's awful!"
A smothered moan, which rose above the roar and crackle of the fire, curdled the very blood in Katharine's veins.
"What is it? What is the horrible thing they are doing?" she cried, wildly. "What is that place?"
"You see the door—how narrow it is—a poor creature can hardly push through. Inside, it is just as narrow; stone walls pressing close up against the wretch, heated from the oven hot as life can bear."
"Oh, my God, my God, is this thing true?" cried Katharine, cowering down, and covering her face with both hands.
"I wont heap on the wood," cried the woman, bitterly. "They haven't the power to make me."