midnight
she creeps up to Nettie 's bed , and a heavy frown gathers on her wrinkled face as she spies the letter on her bosom . Now she draws it from between the child 's fingers , reads it , mutters something between her closed teeth , and then burns it to cinders in the candle ; then she shakes her head , and frowning darkly at little Nettie , glides , spectre-like , out of the room . * * * The same bright moon shines in at a window in the city . It is past midnight , but a lady sits there , toiling , toiling , toiling , though her lids long ago drooped heavily , and the candle is nearly burned to the socket . _ Why _ does she toil ? Why does she sigh ? Why does she get up and walk the floor as if afraid that sleep may overtake her ?