So she walked on through the
sleeping town.
Not a soul was awake, and the stillness was awful. It was a place of
tombs. And those tombs were haunted by dreams. Away towards the west,
the moon lay on the steep-sloping edge of a rugged cloud, appearing to
have rolled half-way down from its lofty peak, and about to be launched
off its baseless bulk into
"the empty, vast, and wandering air."
In the middle of the large square of the little gray town she stood and
looked around her. All one side lay in shade; the greater part of the
other three lay in moonlight. The old growth of centuries, gables and
fronts???-stepping out into the light, retreating into the
shadow???-outside stairs and dark gateways, stood up in the night warding
a townful of sleepers. Not one would be awake now. Ah yes! there was
light in the wool-carder's window. His wife was dying. That light over
the dying, wiped the death-look from the face of the sleeping town,
Annie roused herself and passed on, fearing to be seen. It was the only
thing to be afraid of. But the stillness was awful. One silence only
could be more awful: the same silence at noon-day.
So she passed into the western road and through the trees to the bridge
over the Wan Water.
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