She set out, then, determined to know if all prospered with her father-in-law.  Nor would she give ear to misgiving or ask herself what she would do if no voice were steadily uplifted in the Grey Room.

The great wind seemed to play upon Chadlands like a harp.  It roared and reverberated, now stilled a moment for another leap, now died away against the house, yet still sounded with a steady shout in the neighbor trees.  At the casements it tugged and rattled; against them it flung the rain fiercely.  Every bay and passage of the interior uttered its own voice, and overhead was creaking of old timbers, rattling of old slates, and rustling of mortar fragments dislodged by sudden vibrations.

Mary proceeded on her way, and then, to her astonishment, heard a footfall, and nearly ran into an invisible figure approaching from the direction of the Grey Room.  Man and woman startled each other, but neither exclaimed, and Mrs. May spoke.

“Who is it?” she asked; and Masters answered: 

“Oh, my gracious!  Terrible sorry, ma’am!  If I didn’t think—­”

“What on earth are you doing, Masters?”

“Much the same as you, I expect, ma’am.  I thought just to creep along and see if the reverend gentleman was all right.  And he is.  The light’s burning—­you can see it under the door—­and he’s praying away, steady as a steam-threshing machine.  I doubt he’s keeping the evil creature at arm’s length, and I’m a tidy lot more hopeful than what I was an hour ago.  The thing ain’t strong enough to touch a man praying to God like what he can.  But if prayers keep it harmless, then it’s got ears and it’s alive!”

“Can you believe that, Masters?” she whispered.

“Got to, ma’am.  If it was just a natural horror beyond the reach of prayer, it would have knocked his reverence out long before now, like other people.  It settled the police officer in under an hour, and Mr. May’s been up against it for three—­nearly four hours, so far.  He’ll bolt it yet, I shouldn’t wonder, like a ferret bolts a rat.”

“You really feel more hopeful?”

“Yes, I do, ma’am; and if he can fire the creature and signal ‘All’s clear’ for Chadlands, it will calm everybody and be a proper feather in his cap, and he did ought to be made a bishop, at the least.  Not that Scotland Yard men will believe a word of it to-morrow, all the same.  Ghosts are bang out of their line, and I never met even a common constable that believed in ’em, except Bob Parrett, and he had bats in the belfry, poor chap.  No; they’ll reckon it’s somebody in the house, I expect, who wanted to kill t’ others, but ain’t got no quarrel with Mr. May.  And you’d be wise to get back to bed, ma’am, and try to sleep, else you’ll catch a cold.  I’ll look round again in an hour or to, if I don’t go to sleep my self.”

They parted, while the storm still ran high, and through the empty corridor, when it was lulled, a voice rolled steadily on from the Grey Boom.