“Mrs. Barnes,” she whispered, “I—­I didn’t mean to tell you.  I didn’t mean to tell anybody.  ’Twas too personal, too sacred a thing to tell.  But I don’t know’s I shan’t tell you after all; seem’s as if I must tell somebody.  Mrs. Barnes, I shan’t live much longer.  I’ve had a warning.”

Thankful stared at her.

“Rebecca Timpson!” she exclaimed.  “Have you gone crazy?  What are you talkin’ about?  A warnin’!”

“Yes, a warning.  I was warned last night.  You—­you knew I was a twin, didn’t you?”

“A which?”

“A twin.  Probably you didn’t know it, but I used to have a twin sister, Medora, that died when she was only nineteen.  She and I looked alike, and were alike, in most everything.  We thought the world of each other, used to be together daytimes and sleep together nights.  And she used to—­er—­well, she was different from me in one way—­she couldn’t help it, poor thing—­she used to snore something dreadful.  I used to scold her for it, poor soul.  Many’s the time I’ve reproached myself since, but—­”

“For mercy sakes, what’s your sister’s snorin’ got to do with—­”

“Hush!  Mrs. Barnes,” with intense solemnity.  “As sure as you and I live and breathe this minute, my sister Medora came to me last night.”

“Came to you!  Why—­you mean you dreamed about her, don’t you?  There’s nothin’ strange in that.  When you took that fourth cup of tea I said to myself—­”

“Hush!  Oh, hush!  Don’t talk so.  I didn’t dream.  Mrs. Barnes, I woke up at two o’clock this morning and—­and I heard Medora snoring as plain as I ever heard anything.”

Thankful was strongly tempted to laugh, but the expression on Miss Timpson’s face was so deadly serious that she refrained.

“Goodness!” she exclaimed.  “Is that all?  That’s nothin’.  A night like last night, with the rain and the blinds and the wind—­”

“Hush!  It wasn’t the wind.  Don’t you suppose I know?  I thought it was the wind or my imagination at first.  But I laid there and listened and I kept hearing it.  Finally I got up and lit my lamp; and still I heard it.  It was snoring and it didn’t come from the room I was in.  It came from the little back room I’d made into a study.”

Thankful’s smile faded.  She was conscious of a curious prickling at the roots of her black hair.  The back bedroom!  The room in which Laban Eldredge died!  The room in which she herself had heard—­

“I went into that room,” continued Miss Timpson.  “I don’t know how I ever did it, but I did.  I looked everywhere, but there was nobody there, not a sign of anybody.  And still that dreadful snoring kept on and on.  And then I realized—­” with a shudder, “I realized what I hadn’t noticed before; that room was exactly the size and shape of the one Medora and I used to sleep in.  Mrs. Barnes, it was Medora’s spirit that had come to me.  Do you wonder I can’t stay here any longer?”