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| 1 | 133 | 265 | 398 | 530 |
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their inanimate occupants, and had no heart to startle the echoes -
hoarse from their long silence - with her voice.
In one of these rooms, was a window looking into the street, where the
child sat, many and many a long evening, and often far into the night,
alone and thoughtful. None are so anxious as those who watch and
wait; at these times, mournful fancies came flocking on her mind, in
crowds.
She would take her station here, at dusk, and watch the people as
they passed up and down the street, or appeared at the windows of
the opposite houses; wondering whether those rooms were as
lonesome as that in which she sat, and whether those people felt it
company to see her sitting there, as she did only to see them look out
and draw in their heads again. There was a crooked stack of chimneys
on one of the roofs, in which, by often looking at them, she had
fancied ugly faces that were frowning over at her and trying to peer
into the room; and she felt glad when it grew too dark to make them
out, though she was sorry too, when the man came to light the lamps
in the street - for it made it late, and very dull inside. Then, she would
draw in her head to look round the room and see that everything was
in its place and hadn't moved; and looking out into the street again,
would perhaps see a man passing with a coffin on his back, and two
or three others silently following him to a house where somebody lay
dead; which made her shudder and think of such things until they
suggested afresh the old man's altered face and manner, and a new
train of fears and speculations. If he were to die - if sudden illness had
happened to him, and he were never to come home again, alive - if,
one night, he should come home, and kiss and bless her as usual,
and after she had gone to bed and had fallen asleep and was perhaps
dreaming pleasantly, and smiling in her sleep, he should kill himself
and his blood come creeping, creeping, on the ground to her own bed-
room door! These thoughts were too terrible to dwell upon, and again
she would have recourse to the street, now trodden by fewer feet, and
darker and more silent than before. The shops were closing fast, and
lights began to shine from the upper windows, as the neighbours went
to bed. By degrees, these dwindled away and disappeared or were
replaced, here and there, by a feeble rush-candle which was to burn
all night. Still, there was one late shop at no great distance which sent
forth a ruddy glare upon the pavement even yet, and looked bright
and companionable. But, in a little time, this closed, the light was
extinguished, and all was gloomy and quiet, except when some stray
footsteps sounded on the pavement, or a neighbour, out later than his
wont, knocked lustily at his house-door to rouse the sleeping inmates.
When the night had worn away thus far (and seldom now until it had)
the child would close the window, and steal softly down stairs,
thinking as she went that if one of those hideous faces below, which
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