It was St. Agnes’s Eve, and Bess sat before the wood-fire in the kitchen, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees. Old Ursula had gone to bed, leaving Bess to watch the flickering embers. The room was paved with stone, a warm, snug chamber despite the deep snow gleaming under the moon without. Herbs, bundles of onions, flitches of bacon, a gun, sheaves of feathers, hung from the great beams. There was much polished pewter on the shelves; a great linen-press behind the door; several oak chairs ranged about the walls; brass candlesticks, an hour-glass and a Dutch clock stood on the mantle-shelf, and on an iron hook above the fire a kettle still hissed peacefully.
Bess had loosed her black hair about her shoulders so that it rippled and shone about her face. Her bare feet were on the hearth-stone, her gray stockings and buckled shoes lying near to dry before the fire. Bess’s eyes were building pictures amid the embers stacked behind the iron bars. It was St. Agnes’s Eve, and the girl’s head was packed full of old Ursula’s superstitious lore. She was bent on trying a dream that night. She had kissed neither man, woman, nor child all day, had fasted since noon, and whispered a charm up the great chimney. Now that old Ursula’s black cat had lapped up some milk, and was dozing before the fire, Bess rose up to put herself to bed.
The girl’s room lay on the upper floor at the back of the cottage, its single window looking out over the valley. Bess, after raking out the fire and seeing that the door was fast, lighted her candle, and climbed the wooden stairs to her room under the roof. A clean shift was laid out on the bed, and the sheets had been put on fresh that morning, for St. Agnes, it was said, loved to find a wench in spotless gear. There were fresh pulled bays strewn upon the pillow, a couple of red apples, and a new shoe.
The room being cold, and Bess propitiously sleepy, she disrobed briskly, drew on the clean shift, laid the bay sprigs, apples, and shoe on the chair by the bed, and slipped in between the sheets. Lying straight and on her back, after old Ursula’s orders, she put her right hand beneath her head, saying:
“Now the God of Love send me my desire.” Then, since it was deemed discreet to make sure of sleep with all speed, Bess rolled the clothes about her, blew out the candle, and flung her black hair away from her over the pillow.