The men threw down their hammers and rushed downstairs with a common instinct, to see what it was. Anne stood leaning out of the window straining her eyes in the milky misty air, which seemed to grow whiter and less clear as she gazed. ‘Oh please put down the window,’ cried Rose, shivering, ‘it is so cold--and what good can we do? It is poachers, most likely; it can’t be anybody in the pond, or they wouldn’t go on shrieking like that.’ Saymore, who had come up to look at the decorations, gave the same advice. ‘You’ll get your death of cold, Miss Anne, and you can’t do no good; maybe it’s something caught in a snare--they cry like Christians, them creatures do, though we call ’em dumb creatures; or it’s maybe a cart gone over on the low road--the roads is very heavy; or one of the keepers as has found something; it’s about time for Master and Mr. Heathcote coming back from Hunston; they’ll bring us news. Don’t you be nervish, Miss Anne; they’ll see what it is. I’ve known an old owl make just such a screeching.’ ‘Could an owl say “halloo,”’ said Anne, ‘and “help”? I am sure I heard “help.” I hear somebody galloping up to the door--no, it is not to the door, it is to the stables. It will be papa or Heathcote come for help. I am sure it is something serious,’ she said. And she left the great window wide open, and rushed downstairs. As for Rose she was very chilly. She withdrew within the warmer shelter of the ballroom, and arranged the bow of ribbon with which one of the hangings was to be finished. ‘Put down the window,’ she said; ‘it can’t do anyone any good to let the wind pour in like that, and chill all the house.’