Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure-a ghostly couple. Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. Long they pause. The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent; the faces pondering; the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.
