"I don't like that remark of yours, John," Wilfred suddenly stuttered. "Death's a fine thing?--Death's the work of the devil. It's the only thing I fear. And the--the wind. What's that?" From the hall below there came a gentle slam, the soft closing of a door. John shrugged his shoulders and stirred the logs until they gave out a big blaze. "It's a noise," he said. "This house is full of noises. Every house is full of noises, if only you take the trouble to listen for them." Another pause, and Wilfred helped himself to some brandy. "Noises, like women," he said, "want keeping in their places. They've no business wandering about on nights like this. Hark!" The faintest sound possible broke the stillness of the house; but it suggested much. To me it was like a light, bounding footfall on the first flight of stairs, those nearest the hall. After listening a moment John spoke. "It's only Jenny," he said; "at least, I fancy it's only Jenny. But there are others. God alone knows whence they come or why. The house at times is full of them. So far I have only felt their presence--and heard. Pray to Heaven I may never see them--at least, not some. Do you hear that?" There was a gentle rustling on the landing, a swishing, such as might have been caused by someone in a silk dress with a long train. "It is--it's Jenny!" John went on. "I told you--she comes every night." Wilfred made no reply, but the hand that held the glass shook so much that the brandy ran over and splashed on the floor. There was again silence, then a creak, the faint but very unmistakable turning of a door handle. Wilfred's face blanched. He tried to look round, but dared not. "I'm afraid too," John murmured, his teeth slightly chattering. "I never can get over my initial terror when she first arrives. God! What horror I have known since I lived here." The latch of the door gave a click, the sort of click it always gives when the door springs open, and a current of icy air blew across the room and fanned the cheeks of both men. Wilfred attempted to speak, but his voice died away in his throat. He glanced at the window. It was closed with heavy wooden shutters. "It's no use," John sighed, "there's no escape that way. Make up your mind to face it--face HER. Ah!" He sank back as he spoke and closed his eyes.