Sitting thus, and for the moment silent, there came, in a pause of the thunder, a new sound; a sound that some of them, at least, knew well. Close at hand, rising apparently from the very wall at their side, came the long, eerie wail of the night before. Louder and louder it swelled, till it rang like a shriek in their ears, then suddenly it broke and shuddered itself away, till only the ghost of a sound crept from their ears, and was lost. Margaret and Gerald both sprang to their feet, the girl held the children's hands fast in hers, the lad clutched the boy in his arms till he whimpered and cried; their eyes met, full of inquiry, the same thought flashing from blue eyes and gray. Not the children? What, then? Before Gerald could speak, Miss Sophronia was clinging to him again, shrieking and crying; calling upon him to save her; but this time Gerald put her aside with little ceremony. "If you'll take this boy!" he cried. "Hold him tight, please, and don't let him get off. I'm going--if I may?" he looked swift inquiry at Margaret. "Oh, yes, yes!" cried the girl. "Do go! We are all right. Cousin Sophronia, you _must_ let him go." Dropping Merton into the affrighted lady's arms, the lithe, active youth was in the house in an instant, following the Voice of Fernley. There it came again, rising, rising,--the cry of a lost soul, the wail of a repentant spirit. "A roarer, by all means!" said young Merryweather. "But where, and by whom?" He ran from side to side, laying his ear against the wall here, there, following the sound. Suddenly he stopped short, like a dog pointing. Here, in this thickness of the wall, was it? Then, there must be a recess, a something. What corresponded to this jog? Ha! that little low door, almost hidden by the great picture of the boar-hunt. Locked? No; only sticking, from not having been opened, perhaps, for years. It yielded. He rushed in,--the door closed behind him with a spring. He found himself in total darkness,--darkness filled with a hideous cry, that rang out sharp and piercing,--then fell into sudden silence. "Is it you, Master Merton?" said a whisper. "I didn't wait; I thought maybe--" Gerald stretched out his arm, and grasped a solid form. Instantly he was grasped in return by a pair of strong arms,--grasped and held with as powerful a grip as his own. A full minute passed, two creatures clutching each other in the pit-dark, listening to each other's breathing, counting each other's heart-beats. Then-- "Who are you?" asked Gerald, under his breath. "None of your business!" was the reply, low, but prompt. "Who are you, if it comes to that?" "Why,--why, you're a woman!" "And you're a man, and that's worse. What are you doing here?" "I am taking tea here. I'm a visitor. I have been here all the evening." "And I've been here twenty years. I'm the cook." The young man loosed his hold, and dropped on the floor. He rocked back and forth, in silent convulsions of laughter.