About an hour after supper , when all was in readiness , I descended from my chamber to the sitting-room , to take leave of the old clergyman and his family , with whom I had been an inmate . A gust of wind blew out my lamp as I passed through the entry . According to their invariable custom , so pleasant a one when the fire blazes cheerfully , the family were sitting in the parlor , with no other light than what came from the hearth . As the good clergyman 's scanty stipend compelled him to use all sorts of economy , the foundation of his fires was always a large heap of tan , or ground bark , which would smoulder away , from morning till night , with a dull warmth and no flame . This evening the heap of tan was newly put on , and surmounted with three sticks of red-oak , full of moisture , and a few pieces of dry pine , that had not yet kindled . There was no light , except the little that came sullenly from two half-burned brands , without even glimmering on the andirons . But I knew the position of the old minister 's arm-chair , and also where his wife sat , with her knitting-work , and how to avoid his two daughters , one a stout country lass , and the other a consumptive girl . Groping through the gloom , I found my own place next to that of the son , a learned collegian , who had come home to keep school in the village during the winter vacation . I noticed that there was less room than usual , to-night , between the collegian 's chair and mine . As people are always taciturn in the dark , not a word was said for some time after my entrance . Nothing broke the stillness but the regular click of the matron 's knitting-needles . At times , the fire threw out a brief and dusky gleam , which twinkled on the old man 's glasses , and hovered doubtfully round our circle , but was far too faint to portray the individuals who composed it . Were we not like ghosts ? Dreamy as the scene was , might it not be a type of the mode in which departed people , who had known and loved each other here , would hold communion in eternity ? We were aware of each other 's presence , not by sight , nor sound , nor touch , but by an inward consciousness . Would it not be so among the dead ? The silence was interrupted by the consumptive daughter , addressing a remark to some one in the circle , whom she called Rachel . Her tremulous and decayed accents were answered by a single word , but in a voice that made me start , and bend towards the spot whence it had proceeded . Had I ever heard that sweet , low tone ? If not , why did it rouse up so many old recollections , or mockeries of such , the shadows of things familiar , yet unknown , and fill my mind with confused images of her features who had spoken , though buried in the gloom of the parlor ?
Whom had my heart recognized , XXXXX it throbbed so ?
As At between by for that through to with without