Then it will cease to persecute me with its step
close at my back, its loathsome clinging touch."
Miss Sophonisba (my friend went on) looked up from her reading with such a
strange expression that her sister was startled. "Put on your bonnet,
Faithful," said she: "I'm going down to see the minister."
"What do you mean?" said Miss Faithful: "it's nearly nine o'clock."
"I don't care if it's midnight. I'm going to show these to him, and tell
him what's happened here, and he may make what he can of it."
"Then you have seen something?" said Miss Faithful, turning pale.
Miss Sophonisba made a sign of assent; "I'll tell you all about it when we
get there, but do come along now. You're work's done, and I'll take the
bonnet with me and finish it there."
They lived at some distance from the parsonage, and the roads were in even
worse condition than they are now. It was a tiresome walk, and Miss
Faithful, clinging to her sister's side, was almost inclined to wish they
had braved the terrors at home rather than ventured out into the dark. The
clergyman was a middle-aged bachelor, a grandson of the Parson H----
mentioned by Mrs. T----. He heard Miss Sophonisba's story in silence, but
without any sign of dissent. Faithful, in spite of her terror, could not
but feel a mild degree of triumph in her sister's evident conviction that
what she had seen was, to say the least, unaccountable.
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