Part 33 (1/2)

Hoo-oo-o----!

Oh! the wailing voice of some low, wandering wind, I concluded.

Whirirr-rr-r-r----!

Yes! the wind is rising, but how like a lost spirit it wails.

Urr-rr-rr-r-r-r----!

My Lord! it's not the wind! What is it? Great Heavens!

Urr-rr-rr-rr-r-r-r-r!

I started up in a sitting posture, and, bathed in a cold perspiration, remained listening, my hair bristling with terror.

Urr-rr-rr-rr-r-r-r-r--”Ha--ha--ha!”

I could bear no more! Springing out, I called:

”Grandmother! Grandmother!”

”What's the matter? Why, what ails the child?” exclaimed Mrs. Hawkins.

”Oh! listen! listen!”

”Listen at what? You are dreaming!”

”Dreaming, am I? Oh! wait! Listen----”

Urr-rr-rr-r-r-r-r--”Ha!--ha!--ha!”

It was, as plainly as I ever heard, the sound of the rolling of a ball, followed by a peal of demoniac laughter.

I turned on Mrs. Hawkins an appalled look.

She was surprised, but self-possessed, and evidently bent on calmly listening and investigating. She sat straight up in bed with a strong, concentrated attention to the sounds. They came again:

Urr-rr-rr-r-r-r-r-e--rattle-te-bang!--”A ten-strike at last!--O's a dead shot!”

”A dead shot.”

”A dead shot,” was echoed all around.

Grandmother calmly threw the quilts off her, stepped out of bed, and began to dress herself.

”Strike a light, Madeleine,” she said.

”What are you going to do, grandmother?”

”Dress myself and examine the premises.”