Presently Bella lay down on a long settle beyond the range of the firelight and watched the stranger while she pretended to fall asleep. All at once the figure in the chair stirred, raised its head and listened; then it rose slowly to its feet, no longer bent but tall and powerful looking; it stood listening for some time. There was no sound but Bella’s heavy breathing, and the wind and rain beating on the windows. Then the woman took from the folds of her cloak a brown withered human hand; next she produced a candle, lit it from the fire, and placed it in the hand. Bella’s heart beat so fast that she could hardly keep up the regular deep breathing of pretended sleep; but now she saw the stranger coming towards her with this ghastly chandelier, and she closed her lids tightly. She felt that the woman was bending over her, and that the light was passed slowly before her eyes, while these words were muttered in the strong masculine voice that had first roused her suspicions:
“Let those who rest more deeply sleep;
Let those awake their vigils keep.”
The light moved away, and through her eyelashes Bella saw that the woman’s back was turned to her, and that she was placing the hand in the middle of the long oak table, while she muttered this rhyme:
“O Hand of Glory, shed thy light;
Direct us to our spoil to-night.”
Then she moved a few steps away and undrew the window curtains. Coming back to the latter she said:
“Flash out thy light, O skeleton hand,
And guide the feet of our trusty band.”
At once the light shot up a bright vivid gleam, and the woman walked to the door; she took down the bar, drew back the bolts, unfastened the chain, and Bella felt a keen blast of cold night air rush in as the door was flung open. She kept her eyes closed, however, for the woman at that moment looked at her, and then drawing something from her gown, she blew a long shrill whistle; she then went out at the door and down a few of the steps, stopped and whistled again, but the next moment a vigorous push sent her spinning down the steps on to the road below. The door was closed, barred and bolted, and Bella almost flew to her master’s bedroom and tried to wake him. In vain, he and his wife slept on, while their snores sounded loudly through the house. The girl felt frantic.
She then tried to rouse young Alderson, but he slept as if in a trance. Now a fierce battery on the door and cries below the windows told that the band had arrived.
A new thought came to Bella. She ran back to the kitchen. There was the Hand of Glory, still burning with a wonderful light. The girl caught up a cup of milk that stood on the table, dashed it on the flame and extinguished it. In one moment, as it seemed to her, she heard footsteps coming from the bedrooms, and George Alderson and his son rushed into the room with firearms in their hands. As soon as the robbers heard the landlord’s voice bidding them depart, they summoned him to open the door, and produce his valuables. Meanwhile young Alderson had opened the window, and for answer he fired his blunderbuss down among the men below.
There was a groan—a fall—then a pause, and, as it seemed to the besieged, a sort of discussion. Then a voice called out, “Give up the Hand of Glory, and we will not harm you.”