The people flocked out of Solomon Lennox’s kitchen, some with rapt eyes, some white-faced and trembling, huddling together as if with a forlorn hope that human companionship might avail somewhat even against divine judgment. The deaf-and-dumb boy went sleepily out of the room and up-stairs with his candle, leaving his slate on the hearthstone. Isaac Penfield stood a few minutes looking irresolutely at Melissa, who sat still with her hands pressed tightly over her face, as if she were weeping. Her mother stood near her, talking to Abby Mosely, who was Simeon Lennox’s housekeeper. The woman was fairly gasping with emotion; her broad shawled bosom heaved. “Repent!” cried Mrs. Lennox, loud, in her ears, like an echo of her husband. “Repent; there is yet time! There are five days before the heavens open! Repent!” Her nervous hands served to intensify her weak, straining voice. They pointed and threatened in the woman’s piteous, scared face. Isaac started to approach Melissa; then her mother half turned and seemed to shriek out her warning cry towards him, and he tossed his gray cloak over his shoulders, strode out of the room, and out of the house. Old Simeon Lennox lingered behind the others. “I’m a-comin’ right along, Abby,” he called to his housekeeper when she started to leave the room. “If ye go to bed afore I come, mind ye put the cat out, so she won’t get afoul of that pig meat in the pantry.” Simeon spoke with cool disregard of the distressed sobs and moans with which the woman was making her exit. “D’ye hear what I say, Abby?” he called, sharply, when she did not reply. The housekeeper groaned a faint assent over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold. “Well, mind ye don’t forgit it,” said Simeon, “for I tell ye what ’tis, if that cat does git afoul of that pig meat, there’ll be a jedgement afore Thursday.” The old man clamped leisurely across the room, drew an arm-chair close to the fire, and settled into it with a grunting yawn. “Fire feels good,” he remarked. His voice was thick, for he had tobacco in his mouth. “Woe be unto you, Simeon Lennox, if you can still think of the comfort of your poor body which will soon be ashes,” cried his sister-in-law. She waved before him like a pale flame; her white face seemed fairly luminous. Simeon shifted his tobacco into one cheek as he stared at her. “You’d better go to bed, Sophy Anne; you’re gittin’ highstericky,” said he, and chewed again. “Woe be unto you, fer the bed you shall lie on, unless you repent, Simeon Lennox!” “Look at here, Sophy Anne,” said Simeon, “ain’t you got no mince-pies in the house?” Mrs. Lennox looked at him, speechless, for a moment.