Whilst speaking, she held her face within about a foot of Nelly’s, into which she looked with an expression so searching and dreadful in its penetration, that the other shrunk back, and felt for a moment as if subdued by a superior spirit.  It was, however, only for a moment; the sense of her subjection passed away, and she resumed that hard and imperturbable manner, for which she had been all her life so remarkable, unless, like Etna and Vesuvius, she burst out of this seeming coldness into fire and passion.  There, however, they stood looking sternly into each others’ faces, as if each felt anxious that the other should quail before her gaze—­the stranger, in order that her impressions might be confirmed, and the prophet’s wife, that she should, by the force of her strong will, fling off those traces of inquietude which she knew very well were often too legible in her countenance.

“You are wrong,” said Nelly, “an’ have only mistaken my face for a lookin’-glass.  It was your own you saw, all it was your own you wor spaking of—­for if ever I saw a face that publishes an ill-spent life on the part of its owner, yours is it.”

“Care an’ sorrow I have had,” replied the other, “an’ the sin that causes sorrow, I grant; but there’s somethin’ that’s weighin’ down your heart, an’ that won’t let you rest until you give it up.  You needn’t deny it, for you can’t hide it—­hard your eye is, but it’s not clear, and I see that it quivers, and is unaisy before mine.”

“I said you’re mistaken,” replied the other; “but even supposin’ you wor not, how is it your business whether my mind is aisy or not?  You won’t have my sins to answer for.”

“I know that,” said the stranger; “and God sees my own account will be too long and too heavy, I doubt.  I now beg of you, as you hope to meet judgment, to think of what I said.  Look into your own heart, and it will tell you whether I am right or whether I am wrong.  Consult your husband, and if he has any insight at all into futurity, he must tell you that, unless you clear your conscience, you’ll have a hard death-bed of it.”

“You’re goin’ to Condy Dalton’s,” replied Nelly, with much coolness, but whether assumed or not it is difficult to say; “look into his face, and try what you can find there.  At any rate, report has it that there’s blood upon his hand, an’ that the downfall of himself and his family is only the vengeance of God, an’ the curse of murdher that’s pursuin’ him and them.”

“Why,” inquired the other, eagerly, “was he accused of it?”

“Ay, an’ taken up for it; but bekaise the body wasn’t found, they could do nothing to him.”

“May Heaven assist me!” exclaimed the stranger, “but this day is——­however, God’s will be done, as it will be done!  Are you goin’?”

“I’m goin’,” replied Nelly; “by crossin’ the fields here, I’ll save a great deal of ground; and when you get as far as the broken bridge, you’ll see a large farm-house widout any smoke from it; about a quarter of a mile or less beyant that you’ll find the house you’re lookin’ for—­the house where Condy Dalton lives.”