“Who or what speaks?” I asked, terrified at the unexpected sound, and incapable now of deriving from any occurrence a hope of aid. A form was near⁠—what form, the pitch-dark night and my enfeebled vision prevented me from distinguishing. With a loud long knock, the newcomer appealed to the door.

“Is it you, Mr. St. John?” cried Hannah.

“Yes⁠—yes; open quickly.”

“Well, how wet and cold you must be, such a wild night as it is! Come in⁠—your sisters are quite uneasy about you, and I believe there are bad folks about. There has been a beggar-woman⁠—I declare she is not gone yet!⁠—laid down there. Get up! for shame! Move off, I say!”