The sad cry was again heard, louder and fiercer than before. It now seemed to proceed from the window, and again it appeared as if issuing from the door. At times it would seem as if coming from afar, whilst again it would appear as if coming down the chimney or springing from the ground beneath their feet. Sometimes the cry resembled the low, plaintive wail of a female in distress, and in a moment it was raised to a prolonged yell, loud and furious, and as if coming from a thousand throats; now the sound resembled a low, melancholy chant, and then was quickly changed to a loud, broken, demoniac laugh. It continued thus, with little intermission, for about a quarter of an hour, when it died away, and was succeeded by a heavy, creaking sound, as if of some large waggon, amidst which the loud tramp of horses’ footsteps might be distinguished, accompanied with a strong, rushing wind. This strange noise proceeded round and round the house two or three times, then went down the lane which led to the road, and was heard no more. Jack O’Malley stood aghast, and Harry Taylor, with all his philosophy and scepticism, was astonished and frightened. “A dreadful night this, Moya,” said Jack. “Yes,” said she, “that is the dead-coach; I often heard it before, and have sometimes seen it.” “Seen, did you say?” said Harry; “pray describe it.” “Why,” replied the old crone, “it’s like any other coach, but twice as big, and hung over with black cloth, and a black coffin on the top of it, and drawn by headless black horses.” “Heaven protect us!” ejaculated Jack. “It is very strange,” remarked Harry. “But,” continued Moya, “it always comes before the death of a person, and I wonder what brought it now, unless it came with the banshee.” “Maybe it’s coming for you,” said Harry, with an arch yet subdued smile. “No, no,” she said; “I am none of that family at all at all.” A solemn silence now ensued for a few minutes, and they thought all was vanished, when again the dreadful cry struck heavily on their ears. “Open the door, Jack,” said Harry, “and put out Hector.” Hector was a large and very ferocious mastiff belonging to Jack O’Malley, and always accompanied him wherever he went. Jack opened the door and attempted to put out the dog, but the poor animal refused to go, and, as his master attempted to force him, howled in a loud and mournful tone. “You must go,” said Harry, and he caught him in his arms and flung him over the half-door. The poor dog was scarcely on the ground when he was whirled aloft into the air by some invisible power, and he fell again to earth lifeless, and the pavement was besmeared with his entrails and blood. Harry now lost all patience, and again seizing his blunderbuss, he exclaimed: “Come, Jack, my boy, take your pistols and follow me; I have but one life to lose, and I will venture it to have a crack at this infernal demon.”