The moonbeams came through two deep and narrowwindows and showed a spacious chamber richly furnishedin an antique fashion. From one lattice the shadow of thediamond panes was thrown upon the floor； the ghostlylight through the other slept upon a bed， falling betweenthe heavy silken curtains and illuminating the face of ayoung man. But how quietly the slumberer lay！ how palehis features！ And how like a shroud the sheet was woundabout his frame！ Yes， it was a corpse in its burial-clothes.
Suddenly the fixed features seemed to move withdark emotion. Strange fantasy！ It was but the shadowof the fringed curtain waving betwixt the dead face andthe moonlight as the door of the chamber opened anda girl stole softly to the bedside. Was there delusion inthe moonbeams， or did her gesture and her eye betray agleam of triumph as she bent over the pale corpse， paleas itself， and pressed her living lips to the cold ones of thedead？ As she drew back from that long kiss her featureswrithed as if a proud heart were fighting with its anguish.
Again it seemed that the features of the corpse had movedresponsive to her own. Still an illusion. The silken curtainshad waved a second time betwixt the dead face and themoonlight as another fair young girl unclosed the door andglided ghostlike to the bedside. There the two maidensstood， both beautiful， with the pale beauty of the deadbetween them. But she who had first entered was proudand stately， and the other a soft and fragile thing.
“Away！” cried the lofty one. “Thou hadst him living； thedead is mine.”
“Thine！” returned the other， shuddering. “Well hast thouspoken； the dead is thine.”
The proud girl started and stared into her face with aghastly look， but a wild-and mournful expression passedacross the features of the gentle one， and， weak andhelpless， she sank down on the bed， her head pillowedbeside that of the corpse and her hair mingling with hisdark locks. A creature of hope and joy， the first draught ofsorrow had bewildered her.
“Edith！” cried her rival.
Edith groaned as with a sudden compression of theheart， and， removing her cheek from the dead youth’spillow， she stood upright， fearfully encountering the eyesof the lofty girl.
“Wilt thou betray me？” said the latter， calmly.
“Till the dead bid me speak， I will be silent，” answeredEdith. “Leave us alone together. Go and live many years，and then return and tell me of thy life. He too will be here.
Then， if thou tellest of sufferings more than death， we willboth forgive thee.”
“And what shall be the token？” asked the proud girl， as ifher heart acknowledged a meaning in these wild words.
“This lock of hair，” said Edith， lifting one of the darkclustering curls that lay heavily on the dead man’s brow.
The two maidens joined their hands over the bosom ofthe corpse and appointed a day and hour far， far in time tocome for their next meeting in that chamber. The stateliergirl gave one deep look at the motionless countenance anddeparted， yet turned again and trembled ere she closed thedoor， almost believing that her dead lover frowned uponher. And Edith， too！ Was not her white form fading into themoonlight？ Scorning her own weakness， she went forth andperceived that a negro slave was waiting in the passage witha waxlight， which he held between her face and his ownand regarded her， as she thought， with an ugly expressionof merriment. Lifting his torch on high， the slave lightedher down the staircase and undid the portal of the mansion.
The young clergyman of the town had just ascended thesteps， and， bowing to the lady， passed in without a word.
Years， many years rolled on. The world seemed newagain， so much older was it grown since the night whenthose pale girls had clasped their hands across the bosomof the corpse. In the interval a lonely woman had passedfrom youth to extreme age， and was known by all thetown as the “Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet.” A taint ofinsanity had affected her whole life， but so quiet， sad andgentle， so utterly free from violence， that she was sufferedto pursue her harmless fantasies unmolested by the worldwith whose business or pleasures she had naught to do.
She dwelt alone， and never came into the daylight exceptto follow funerals. Whenever a corpse was borne alongthe street， in sunshine， rain or snow， whether a pompoustrain of the rich and proud thronged after it or few andhumble were the mourners， behind them came the lonelywoman in a long white garment which the people calledher shroud. She took no place among the kindred or thefriends， but stood at the door to hear the funeral prayer，and walked in the rear of the procession as one whoseearthly charge it was to haunt the house of mourningand be the shadow of affliction and see that the deadwere duly buried. So long had this been her custom thatthe inhabitants of the town deemed her a part of everyfuneral， as much as the coffin-pall or the very corpse itself，and augured ill of the sinner’s destiny unless the Old Maidin the Winding-Sheet came gliding like a ghost behind.