His tone surprised everyone. Otter Brearley looked at him with an odd expression and then glanced at the watch upon the writing table. “Mr. Klaw,” he said, quietly, “I had hoped for a different attitude in you; but if you really disapprove of what I am about to attempt, I can only ask you to withdraw; it is too late for further arguments.” “I remain, my friend! I spoke not for myself--my life has been passed in this coping with evil things; I spoke for others.” None of us entirely understood his words, but Brearley went on, impatiently: “Listen, please. I rely upon your coöperation. From now onward I require absolute silence. Whatever happens make no noise.” “I shall not be noisy, I, my friend!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “I am the old silent; I watch and wait--until I am wanted.” He shrugged his shoulders and nodded, significantly. “Good!” said Brearley, and his voice quivered with excitement; “then the experiment, the final experiment, has begun!” III He suddenly extinguished the light. Passing to a window, he looked up to the moon, and, a moment later, lowered the blind. Dimly visible in his white garment, he crossed the room. He might be heard unfastening the door of the inner chamber, and a faint, church-like smell crept to our nostrils. The door closed. Immediately the harp sounded. Its tone was peculiar--uncomfortable. The strain which Ailsa played was a mere repetition of three notes. Then she began to sing. Our eyes becoming more accustomed to the gloom, we could vaguely discern her now; the soft outlines of her figure; the white, ghost-like fingers straying over the strings of the instrument. The music of the chant was very monotonous, and weird to a marked degree. The sound of that ancient tongue, dead for many ages, chanted softly by Ailsa Brearley’s beautiful voice, was almost incredibly eerie. I found myself gripped hard by a powerful sense of the uncanny. No other sound was audible. Throughout the rambling old house intense silence prevailed. A slight breeze stirred the cedars outside. Every now and again it came--like a series of broken sighs. How long the chant lasted I cannot pretend to state. It seemed interminable. I became aware of a curious sense of physical loss. I found myself drawn to high tension, as though the continuance of the chant demanded a vast effort on my part. Though I told myself that imagination was tricking me, the music seemed to be draining my nerve force! Ailsa’s voice grew louder and clearer, until the queer words, of unknown purport, rang out passionately, imperatively. She ceased. In the ensuing silence I could hear distinctly Moris Klaw’s heavy breathing. A compelling atmosphere of mystery had grown up about us. Repel it how we might, it was there--commanding acknowledgment. Fairbank, who sat nearest, was the first to see Ailsa Brearley rise, unsteadily, and move in the direction of the study door.