AN APPALLING MARVEL. 129 



white, or grey. That the thing upon her dresser is a moth, of 

 size prodigious, the candle seems to tell her ; but there, as it 

 lies, vibrating its dingy pinions in unison with its dismal cry, 

 somewhat else seems to tell her that it is no moth at all, or a 

 moth of most strange unnatural behaviour, not at all to her 

 liking. Whether to rid herself by fair means, or by foul, of 

 her unwelcome quest, " that is the question." By alarming, 

 to drive away, she might bring the creature in her very face, 

 or on her very back ; better at once to " end it." So Deborah 

 screws up her courage, seizes on a knife, approaches with a 

 murderer's step her now quiescent victim, and with a dex- 

 terity, under existing circumstances, perfectly miraculous, 

 severs its head from its body. Then, as though a coffin had 

 popped from out the grate, bounds the plump person of 

 Deborah from the dresser with a piercing scream. Most 

 marvellous ! most horrible ! She hears again, louder and 

 more doleful than before, that melancholy cry, and it is the 

 moth's bodiless head, or headless body, from whence it issues. 

 Snap ! like her jack-chain in the morning, had gone the 

 spring of Deborah's wound-up courage ; but now desperation 

 solders it together, and, after a stop, her bodily machine is 

 once more in motion towards the dresser. She lifts the 

 candle holds it nearer to the object, the now twofold 

 object of her terror she looks she listens perhaps her 

 ears, or eyes, or hand, had played her false ; but, no ! they 

 and her murderous weapon had all been true : here lies the 



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