She shuddered and groaned, for a sound had reached her ears in the awfully still old house--an eerie sound! It came up from the parlor below, and sounded like a discord played by unskilled hands upon the piano keys. It had been caused, in fact, by Otho Maury, stumbling against the piano, in his furtive search for Floy. Floy’s heart thumped terrifically against her side for a moment, then she recovered herself as memory recalled her first night at Suicide Place. “It’s just the mice running over the piano keys,” she laughed. A full half an hour passed, and she grew nervous and restless, startled by muffled sounds of footsteps in the house. “What can it be?--the wind or the rats?” she muttered, in alarm. “I have never heard such strange noises in the house before. Can any one have dared enter?” Instinctively she caught up a dagger that she had found in a drawer of the old-fashioned bureau and laid on the table for self-protection. Drawing the keen, shining blade from its sheath, she held it in her hand, her flashing eyes turned toward the door. “Let any intruder dare enter here, and I will sell my life and honor dearly!” she cried. CHAPTER XXVII. AT BAY. As if in answer to her defiance, a stealthy hand turned the knob, the door swung lightly back, and the form of a man stood hesitating on the threshold. “Otho Maury!” The cry shrilled over her lips in a strangled gasp of loathing--not fear, for with that weapon in her hand she felt strong to defy the villain. He started, and stood looking at her with dazed eyes. He had searched the whole house over by the aid of a dark lantern, and almost began to despair of success, when he opened this last door. He found her there, beautiful, brave, defiant, her angry blue eyes fixed on him, and her white hand grasping the weapon whose shining blade would surely be sheathed in his heart if he dared approach the little beauty. After his first start of surprise he cried, longingly: “Floy!” She saw that he was deathly pale, and heard a strange tremor in his voice. “He is frightened, and I shall easily drive him off,” she thought, exultantly; and replied: “How dare you intrude yourself into this house again, Otho Maury? Have you forgotten how you were punished the last time?” He glared angrily at her, and returned: “No; but Beresford is not here to save you now.” “But I can defend myself!” she cried, defiantly, brandishing her weapon. “Put down that child’s toy, my dear. I am not afraid of it in the least. I could take it from you and snap it like a twig!” “You _are_ afraid, you wretch! Your face is ashen pale and your voice trembles with fear!” she retorted, confidently. “If my face is pale, and my voice weak, it is not from fear of that shining little blade in your tiny hand, it is from horror at what I have seen since I entered this house. Tell me, Floy, did you know that this house is really haunted?”