At that moment the bright sun, which was shining in all its splendour, beamed into the room, and fell strongly upon her flushed countenance.
‘Draw down the blind, my love,’ said Mrs. Harding to her husband. Harding rose and proceeded to the window.
A shriek of horror burst from him—‘She is there!’ exclaimed the agitated man.
‘Who?’ cried his astonished wife.
‘She—she—the horrid she!’
Mrs. Harding ran to the window and beheld, standing on the opposite side of the street, with her eyes fixed attentively on the house—Martha, the Gipsy.
‘Draw down the blind, my love, and come away; pray come away,’ said Mrs. Harding.
Harding drew down the blind.
‘What evil is at hand? What misery is impending?’ sobbed Harding.
A loud scream from his wife, who had returned to the bedside, was the horrid answer to his painful question.