'Hark!' 'Merciful heavens! what is it?' Quick as thought, Lady Kildhurm had unfastened the catch of the lattice, and the wind, violently driving it open, burst headlong into the room, put out the candles, and went roaring through the house, slamming doors, flapping curtains, and shaking soot down the chimneys. None of this disturbance, however, had been noticed by the two women. Their ears had been filled and their hearts stopped by the sound of three frantic screams, following rapidly one upon another, and rising high above the confusion of the tempest. They were the screams of a man in mortal agony and horror. Both the women had known at once whose voice it was, though they had never heard it pitched in that key before. But what could have happened to him? The screams were not repeated. The women exchanged a ghastly look. CHAPTER XI. THE DEVIL'S GRIP. 'Let us go together,' said Mrs. Chepstow at last, in a shaking voice. 'No,' replied her sister, decisively. 'Do you stay here and guard my son. I must go to meet them yonder alone.' 'Them! who are they? Do you think my cousin is there too?' 'Satan and his imps are there. Hush! you must not question me. If they have taken him, they must take me also--unless I can win him back! That is the question, for I cannot bear to lose him. Either he must return to me, or I will follow him: I cannot live apart from him. Hush! Do you stay by the child; and on your life, do not come near the Oak till after sunrise.' While Lady Kildhurm had been speaking in this strange fashion, she was making her preparations to go forth, and the only provision against the storm and its portents which she took with her consisted of a small Bible, which she put in her bosom, and a cross of carved ivory, which she hung at her girdle. Thus equipped, and wearing still the embroidered satin gown which she had put on that evening in honour of her guest, she went out, and the darkness closed upon her. Mrs. Chepstow crept fearfully to the child's crib, and knelt down there; and crying, praying, and dropping asleep by turns, she passed the long hours of that memorable night. But Lady Kildhurm, on issuing from the gate, made straight for the Oak. As she approached it, a kind of phosphorescent gleam seemed to hover about the branches, such as sailors sometimes behold on the yardarms of their vessel in bad weather. The gale, however, had suddenly fallen almost calm; and though drops of rain fell occasionally, it was evident that the storm had raged itself out. The sea tossed its waves upwards aimlessly, as if forgetting whither to drive them, and therefore appealing to the clouds. A sense of exhaustion and heaviness seemed to pervade nature, as if she had aroused herself to do some hideous deed, and now, the deed being done, were awaiting shudderingly what should follow.