"Surely I know your voice," said Chandos. "Are you not the gipsey woman, Sally Stanley, the little boy's mother?" "You know my voice better than I know yours, it seems," replied the woman; "for yours deceived me." "But what are you doing here, my poor woman?" inquired Chandos. "You seem in great distress, on some account. Come, leave this place; it can do no good to you, or any one, to remain weeping over a grave at midnight." "Every year of my life, at this day, and this hour, Chandos Winslow," replied the woman, "I come here to weep and pray over those I murdered." "Murdered!" exclaimed her companion. "But it is nonsense, my good woman; your brain is wandering." "I know it is," answered Sally Stanley; "I need no one to tell me that. It does wander often, and sometimes long; but on this night it wanders always. I said 'murdered,' did I not? Well, I said true. I did murder him; but not as your brother murdered Roberts, the steward, with one blow, that ended at once all pain and resistance--slowly, slowly, I murdered him--by grief, and shame, and care, and despair; aye, and want too had its share at last." "Good God! then who are you?" demanded Chandos Winslow. "Ask me no questions," answered the woman. "Ever since those days a fire comes into my brain, from time to time, that nothing will put out till it burns out of itself; and I see more than other people, know more--I see the dead, alive; and I behold the unborn deeds before they are committed; and the hand of God is upon me. Ever on this night--the night when the old man died of sorrow, I am at the worst; for then it is that my heart is given up to the hell of its own making, and I come here to cool my brain and my bosom upon the green grass of his grave. Disturb me not; but go, and leave me. I can have no help of man." "Nay, poor thing!" said Chandos Winslow, "I cannot, in truth, leave you in such sorrow and in such a place, without trying to give you some consolation. You have said you come here to pray. Do you not know then, that, whatever be your offences, there is pardon and comfort for all who pray in faith and with repentance?" "Aye; but we must all bear our punishment, nevertheless," replied the woman. "Do not try to console me, young man. If you would needs stay, (and it is better that you should, for I have wanted much to see you, and have much to say to you,) sit down on the church step there for a while, till this hour is past, and I will tell you things you want to hear. But do not try to console me. God may give me consolation at his own time. Man can never."