I was sitting there one night with my head in my hands, and the moonlight was casting black lozenges on to the floor. Everything was quiet in Pierce's room, save only the struggle for breath that went on incessantly. Suddenly there rang through the night outside the cry of a woman. It began thin as an Æolian harp, and swelled to a full chord of passionate lamentation. It came from without, but it seemed to ring through the old house and beat against the rafters of the high roof overhead. I sprang to my feet terrified, and with a wild impulse to fly anywhere for human companionship, but my fear of disturbing the dying and the mourner kept me still. Again the wild cry rang out, more piercing and heart-broken. I looked at the sick-room door, expecting Aline to appear, but all was quiet. The third time it rang, and now it was close by me, close against the great window. I lifted my eyes in fascinated terror, and for a moment the moonlight was blotted out. Something like the wings of a great bird, or the trailing veil of a woman, passed slowly across the panes. Then I fell, huddled up, with my head against the upper step. When I came to myself I was lying on my own bed, and Oona was bathing my head with something sharp and aromatic. The gray dawn was filling the room like a tide. "Oh, Oona!" I cried; "what was it? Did you hear it, the dreadful thing?" "Whisht, my lamb! I heard her. Many's the time I've heard her these sorrowful months. But she's not dreadful, my jewel. She loves every one of ye, and 'tis because her heart's breaking for the trouble in the family that she cries like that." "They didn't hear, Oona?" I asked, with a new fear. "Not a sound. Master Pierce was asleep when I went in, an' Miss Aline, poor lamb, was sound off, with her head against his hand. She's wore out, sure she is. I didn't disturb her. 'Sleep, my honey,' I said, for I knew she'd need all her strength for the trouble that's so close at hand. Why, when I found you in your white gown I thought 'twas you was the banshee, Miss Hilda, darling. There, never be afraid of her. Sure she loves every hair of your heads." In the afternoon of the next day Pierce died. All through the day he had been dozing quietly, with his hand lying in Aline's, while incessantly she dried his face with a handkerchief. We were all in the room, including Esther, who had been sent for, all huddled about miserably, some of us weeping, and the boys manfully trying to keep the tears out of sight. Now and again Oona would steal into the room, and bring one or another away for food. It was terrible waiting there for the end, with nothing to do but wait. At every least sound Pierce would start, and open his eyes, and then would sink off again into a stupor. We were troubled about Aline, who had eaten nothing. After all it was Hugh who persuaded her. He brought some nourishing jelly to her, and when she shook her head, he was not to be put off like the rest of us.