I piled fresh logs upon my fire. I felt chilled, as with a searching wind.
My eyes wandered out at the window. The sick sun no longer lay across the floor. It had gone down behind the distant hills. The swart shadows were at the casement, and were slowly creeping in.
—They had come—thought I—to throw their dark shroud about the Fancies that were brooding here. And I gladly welcomed them, too.—
I buried my face in my hands; and a secret joy stole into my heart, that the Night had finally come.
THE MINISTER’S WIFE.
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BY ELLA RODMAN.
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