Lord, you're frightened half out of your wits. Don't tremble so,
dearest. There's no ghost. Every one knows--"
"Listen--listen!" she whispered. Together they stood motionless,
almost breathless before the fire, the glow from which threw their
shadows across the room to meet the mysterious invader.
"Good Lord," he muttered, unwilling to believe his ears. "There _is_
some one in the house. I've--I've heard sounds here before, but not
like these." Distinctly to their startled ears came the low, subdued
murmur of a human voice and then unmistakable moans from the very
depth of the earth--from the grave, it seemed.
"Do you hear?" she whispered. "Oh, this dreadful place! Take me away,
Randolph, dear--"
"Don't be afraid," he said, drawing her close. "There's nothing
supernatural about those sounds. They come from lips as much alive as
ours. I'll investigate." He grabbed the heavy poker from the chimney
corner, and started toward the door. She followed close behind, his
assurance restoring in a measure the courage that had temporarily
deserted her.
In the hallway they paused to look out over the broad porch. The storm
had died away, sighing its own requiem in the misty tree-tops. Dawn
was not far away. A thick fog was rising to meet the first glance of
day. In surprise Shaw looked at his watch, her face at his shoulder.
It was after five o'clock.
"Ghosts turn in at midnight, dear," he said with a cheerful smile.
"They don't keep such hours as these.
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