"Oh, Hannah," the old man said, whimperingly; "I did so want to be sure
that it was there. I dreamed it was gone, that it had never been there,
and it was so real I wanted to see. I thought I'd get done before you
came, but it was so hard. I cannot get the boards up. But you can do it;
go down on your knees and take the floor up just this once. I'll never
ask it again. It was thirty-one years ago to-night, and when it is
thirty-two I shall be dead. Go down, Hannah, I want to know if it is
there still, the horror I have slept over every night for thirty-one
long years."
"No, father," Hannah answered, firmly. "Ask me anything but that. Be
satisfied that it _is_ there. Who should take it away, when no one knows
but ourselves? Get into bed, father; you are shivering with cold."
Like a conquered child the old man obeyed her and crept into bed, while
she drew the blankets around him, and then stooping down in the dark
corner she drove the loosened board to its place, shuddering as she did
so and experiencing a feeling of terror such as she had not felt before
in years.
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