On the floor at
the further end of the garret, where the roof met the boards at a
sharp angle, a mattress was spread. Then speech came to me.
'Not there!' I groaned, pointing to the hideous black-looking bed,
and turning my head away in terror. The woman burst into a cackling
laugh.
'Not there? Who said she _was_ there? _I_ didn't. If you can see
anythink there besides a bed an' a quilt, you've got eyes as can make
picturs out o' nothink, same as my darter's eyes could make 'em, pore
dear.'
'Ah, what do you mean?' I cried, leaping to the side of the mattress,
upon which I now saw that no dead form was lying.
For a moment a flash of joy as dazzling as a fork of lightning seemed
to strike through my soul and turn my blood into a liquid fire that
rose and blinded my eyes.
'Not dead,' I cried; 'no, no, no! The pitiful heavens would have
rained blood and tears at such a monstrous tragedy. She is not
dead--not dead after all! The hideous dream is passing.'
'Oh, ain't she dead, pore dear?--ain't she? She's dead enough for
one,' said the woman; 'but 'ow can she be there on that mattress,
when she's buried, an' the prayers read over her, like the darter of
the most 'spectable mother as ever lived in Primrose Court! That's
what the neighbours say o' me.
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