Peckover would arrive with a certain female relative from St.
Albans. Now the proximity of this corpse was a ceaseless occasion of
dread and misery to Jane Snowdon; the poor child had each night to
make up a bed for herself in this front-room, dragging together a
little heap of rags when mother and daughter were gone up to their
chamber, and since the old woman's death it was much if Jane had
enjoyed one hour of unbroken sleep. She endeavoured to hide these
feelings, but Clem, with her Bed Indian scent, divined them
accurately enough. She hit upon a good idea.
'Go into the next room,' she commanded suddenly, 'and fetch the
matches off of the mantel-piece. I shall want to go upstairs
presently, to see if you've scrubbed the bed-room well.'
Jane was blanched; but she rose from her knees at once, and reached
a candlestick from above the fireplace.
'What's that for?' shouted Clem, with her mouth full. 'You've no
need of a light to find the mantel-piece. If you're not off--'
Jane hastened from the kitchen. Clem yelled to her to close the
door, and she had no choice but to obey. In the dark passage outside
there was darkness that might be felt.
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