"I know you, woman!" then the Justice cried;
"I know that woman well," he cried aloud;
"The shepherd Aveland's widow: God me guide!
A pauper kneeling on my hearth": and bowed
The hag, like one at home, its warmth to share!
"How dares she to intrude? What does she there?
"Ho, woman, ho!"--but yet she did not stir,
Though from her lips a fitful plaining broke;
"I'll ring my people up to deal with her;
I'll rouse the house," he cried; but while he spoke
He turned, and saw, but distant from his bed,
Another form,--a Darkness with a head.
Then in a rage, he shouted, "Who are you?"
For little in the gloom he might discern.
"Speak out; speak now; or I will make you rue
The hour!" but there was silence, and a stern,
Dark face from out the dusk appeared to lean,
And then again drew back, and was not seen.
"God!" cried the dreaming man, right impiously,
"What have I done, that these my sleep affray?"
"God!" said the Phantom, "I appeal to Thee,
Appoint Thou me this man to be my prey."
"God!" sighed the kneeling woman, frail and old,
"I pray Thee take me, for the world is cold."
Then said the trembling Justice, in affright,
"Fiend, I adjure thee, speak thine errand here!"
And lo! it pointed in the failing light
Toward the woman, answering, cold and clear,
"Thou art ordained an answer to thy prayer;
But first to tell _her_ tale that kneeleth there.
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