Don't knock, but just pull the
latch and go in."
And he went off to his oxen. Ellen at first saw no door, and
did not even know where to look for it; by degrees, as her
head became clearer, the large dark shadow of the house stood
before her, and a little glimmering line of a path seemed to
lead onward from where she stood. With unsteady steps, Ellen
pursued it till her foot struck against the stone before the
door. Her trembling fingers found the latch — lifted it — and
she entered. All was dark there; but at the right a window
showed light glimmering within. Ellen made towards it, and,
groping, came to another door-latch. This was big and clumsy;
however, she managed it, and, pushing open the heavy door,
went in.
It was a good-sized, cheerful-looking kitchen. A fine fire was
burning in the enormous fire-place; the white walls and
ceiling were yellow in the light of the flame. No candles were
needed, and none were there. The supper-table was set, and,
with its snow-white tablecloth and shining furniture, looked
very comfortable indeed. But the only person there was an old
woman, sitting by the side of the fire, with her back towards
Ellen. She seemed to be knitting, but did not move nor look
round. Ellen had come a step or two into the room, and there
she stood, unable to speak or to go any further. "Can that be
Aunt Fortune?" she thought; "she can't be as old as that!"
In another minute a door opened at her right, just behind the
old woman's back, and a second figure appeared at the top of a
flight of stairs which led down from the kitchen.
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