“A moment ago, Phœbe, the cook, brought it to me from my mistress.”
“Of course you have no choice, but must comply with her wishes and those of the dead. Still, I regret this decision.”
“Yes, sir; it is ill luck to keep a grave near the eaves of a house, and it will be bad for my mistress to have it always in sight; for she mopes enough at best, and does not sleep o’ nights, and the Lord only knows what will become of her with my poor mother’s corpse and coffin within ten yards of her window. Sir, how does she take this awful blow? It comforted me to know you were with her.”
“She bears this affliction as she seems to have endured all others that have overtaken her, in a spirit of rebellious bitterness and defiance. I am afraid that the excitement will seriously injure her. Salome, I will return as early as the safety of a patient will permit.”
Robert followed the doctor to his buggy, to consult him with reference to some of the sad details of the impending funeral, and after a hasty glance at the placid countenance of 259 the dead, Salome went back to the hall, and sat down opposite to the parlor door, which had been pointed out to her. Her nerves were strong, healthy, and firm, but the presence of death, the profound silence that reigned, the chill atmosphere, and dreary aspect of the house,—all conspired to oppress her heart.
Through the open door she could see the ever restless sea, and hear its endless murmuring monotone, and imagination seizing the ill-omened legends she had heard recounted concerning this spot, peopled the corners of the hall with phantoms, and every flitting shadow on the lawn became a spectre.
Now and then the servants—two middle-aged women—passed softly to and fro, and twice Robert crossed the passage, but not a sound issued from the parlor; and once, when Phoebe came with her mistress’s breakfast on a waiter, and tried the bolt, she found the door locked. She knocked several times, but receiving no answer went quietly back to the kitchen.
Weary of sitting on one of the hard, uncomfortable walnut chairs, that stood with its high carved back close to the wall, Salome rose, and amused herself by studying the engravings that surrounded her. In the midst of her investigations she was startled by a loud, doleful, blood-curdling sound, that seemed to proceed from some spot immediately beneath the floor of the hall. It was different from anything she had ever heard before, but resembled the prolonged howl of a dog, and rose and fell on the air like a cry from some doomed spirit.
Robert came out of the room which his mother had always occupied, and, as he passed Salome, she asked,—
“What is the matter? What is the meaning of that horrible noise?”