Between three and four the wind fell during a short space, and all responsive noises ceased.  For a few minutes reigned absolute silence, then it was broken by two piercing cries—­the cries of a woman in terror or in pain.

They disturbed even the sleepers, it was evident; for when I reached the end of my passage I heard opening doors, hurrying footsteps, and bells ringing violently in the gallery.  After a little the stir was increased, presumably by servants arriving from the farther wing; but no one came my way till Atherley himself, in his dressing-gown, went hurriedly downstairs.

“Anything wrong?” I called as he passed me.

“Only Mrs. Molyneux’s prayer has been granted.”

“Of course she was bound to see it,” he said next day, as we sat together over a late breakfast.  “It would have been a miracle if she had not; but if I had known the interview was to be followed by such unpleasant consequences I shouldn’t have asked her down.  I was wandering about for hours looking for an imaginary bottle of sal-volatile Jane described as being in her sitting-room:  and Jane herself was up till late—­or rather early—­this morning, trying to soothe Mrs. Molyneux, who does not appear to have found the ghost quite such pleasant company as she expected.  Oh yes, Jane is down; she breakfasted in her own room.  I believe she is ordering dinner at this minute in the next room.”

Hardly had he said the words when outside, in the hall, resounded a prolonged and stentorian wail.

“What on earth is the matter now?” said Atherley, rising and making for the door.  He opened it just in time for us to see Mrs. Mallet go by—­Mrs. Mallet bathed in tears and weeping as I never have heard an adult weep before or since—­in a manner which is graphically and literally described by the phrase “roaring and crying.”

“Why, Mrs. Mallet!  What on earth is the matter?”

“Send for Mrs. de Noel,” cried Mrs. Mallet in tones necessarily raised to a high and piercing key by the sobs with which they were accompanied.  “Send for Mrs. de Noel; send for that dear lady, and she will tell you whether a word has been said against my character till I come here, which I never wish to do, being frightened pretty nigh to death with what one told me and the other; and if you don’t believe me, ask Mrs. Stubbs as keeps the little sweet-shop near the church, if any one in the village will so much as come up the avenue after dark; and says to me, the very day I come here, ‘You have a nerve,’ she says; ’I wouldn’t sleep there if you was to pay me,’ she says; and I says, not wishing to speak against a family that was cousin to Mrs. de Noel, ’Noises is neither here nor there,’ I says, ’and ghostisses keeps mostly to the gentry’s wing,’ I says.  And then to say as I put about that they was all over the house, and frighten the London lady’s maid, which all I said was—­and Hann can tell you that I speak the truth, for she was there—­’some