drum.  Some natures it startles; some it stupefies.  To one it comes like the stroke of an arrow, stinging all the sensibilities to a keener life; to another as the blow of a bludgeon, which in crushing benumbs.  We may conceive Murlock to have been that way affected, for (and here we are upon surer ground than that of conjecture) no sooner had he finished his pious work than, sinking into a chair by the side of the table upon which the body lay, and noting how white the profile showed in the deepening gloom, he laid his arms upon the table’s edge, and dropped his face into them, tearless yet and unutterably weary.  At that moment came in through the open window a long, wailing sound like the cry of a lost child in the far deeps of the darkening wood!  But the man did not move.  Again, and nearer than before, sounded that unearthly cry upon his failing sense.  Perhaps it was a wild beast; perhaps it was a dream.  For Murlock was asleep.

Some hours later, as it afterward appeared, this unfaithful watcher awoke and lifting his head from his arms intently listened—­he knew not why.  There in the black darkness by the side of the dead, recalling all without a shock, he strained his eyes to see—­he knew not what.  His senses were all alert, his breath was suspended, his blood had stilled its tides as if to assist the silence.  Who—­what had waked him, and where was it?

Suddenly the table shook beneath his arms, and at the same moment he heard, or fancied that he heard, a light, soft step—­another—­sounds as of bare feet upon the floor!

He was terrified beyond the power to cry out or move.  Perforce he waited—­waited there in the darkness through seeming centuries of such dread as one may know, yet live to tell.  He tried vainly to speak the dead woman’s name, vainly to stretch forth his hand across the table to learn if she were there.  His throat was powerless, his arms and hands were like lead.  Then occurred something most frightful.  Some heavy body seemed hurled against the table with an impetus that pushed it against his breast so sharply as nearly to overthrow him, and at the same instant he heard and felt the fall of something upon the floor with so violent a thump that the whole house was shaken by the impact.  A scuffling ensued, and a confusion of sounds impossible to describe.  Murlock had risen to his feet.  Fear had by excess forfeited control of his faculties.  He flung his hands upon the table.  Nothing was there!

There is a point at which terror may turn to madness; and madness incites to action.  With no definite intent, from no motive but the wayward impulse of a madman, Murlock sprang to the wall, with a little groping seized his loaded rifle, and without aim discharged it.  By the flash which lit up the room with a vivid illumination, he saw an enormous panther dragging the dead woman toward the window, its teeth fixed in her throat!  Then there were darkness blacker than before, and silence; and when he returned to consciousness the sun was high and the wood vocal with songs of birds.