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'
It is surely,' said Mr Garland, 'in the ruin where they live. I see no
other ruin hereabouts.'
'They cannot,' returned the brother hastily, 'be waking at this late
hour - '
Kit interposed directly, and begged that, while they rang and waited at
the gate, they would let him make his way to where this light was
shining, and try to ascertain if any people were about. Obtaining the
permission he desired, he darted off with breathless eagerness, and,
still carrying the birdcage in his hand, made straight towards the
spot.
It was not easy to hold that pace among the graves, and at another
time he might have gone more slowly, or round by the path.
Unmindful of all obstacles, however, he pressed forward without
slackening his speed, and soon arrived within a few yards of the
window. He approached as softly as he could, and advancing so near
the wall as to brush the whitened ivy with his dress, listened. There
was no sound inside. The church itself was not more quiet. Touching
the glass with his cheek, he listened again. No. And yet there was
such a silence all around, that he felt sure he could have heard even
the breathing of a sleeper, if there had been one there.
A strange circumstance, a light in such a place at that time of night,
with no one near it.
A curtain was drawn across the lower portion of the window, and he
could not see into the room. But there was no shadow thrown upon it
from within. To have gained a footing on the wall and tried to look in
from above, would have been attended with some danger - certainly
with some noise, and the chance of terrifying the child, if that really
were her habitation. Again and again he listened; again and again the
same wearisome blank.
Leaving the spot with slow and cautious steps, and skirting the ruin
for a few paces, he came at length to a door. He knocked. No answer.
But there was a curious noise inside. It was difficult to determine
what it was. It bore a resemblance to the low moaning of one in pain,
but it was not that, being far too regular and constant. Now it seemed
a kind of song, now a wail - seemed, that is, to his changing fancy, for
the sound itself was never changed or checked. It was unlike anything
he had ever heard; and in its tone there was something fearful,
chilling, and unearthly.
The listener's blood ran colder now than ever it had done in frost and
snow, but he knocked again. There was no answer, and the sound
went on without any interruption. He laid his hand softly upon the
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