The low, pleading voice was praying. She pressed her ear to the crack and heard distinctly. She must be patient. Her plan was sure to succeed if she were only patient. No woman could sob and pray and walk all night. She must fall down unconscious from sheer exhaustion before day.
The old woman slipped into the kitchen, took up the quilt which she had spread on the floor for her bed, wrapped it about her thin shoulders and returned to her watch.
Again and again she rose, believing her patience had won, and placed her ear to the crack only to hear a sound within which told her only too plainly that the girl was yet awake. Sometimes it was a sigh, sometimes she cleared her throat, sometimes she tossed restlessly. One spoken sentence she heard again and again:
“Oh, dear God, have mercy on my lost soul!”
“What can be the matter with the fool critter!” Nance muttered. “Is she moanin' for sin? To be shore, they don't have no revival meetings this time o' year!”
She had known sinners to mourn through a whole summer sometimes, but never in all her experience in religious revivals had a mourner carried it over into winter. The dancing had always eased the tension and brought a relapse to sinful thoughts.
The hours dragged until the roosters began to crow for day. It would soon be light.
She must act now. There was no time to lose. She pressed her ear to the crack once more and held it five minutes.
Not a sound came from within. The broken spirit had yielded to the stupor of exhaustion at last.
With swift, cat's tread Nance circled the cabin and entered the kitchen. The quilt she carefully spread on the floor leading to the entrance to the living-room, crossed it softly and stood in the doorway with her long hands on the calico hangings.