It was probably midnight when she was awakened by the peal of thunder overhead, and the patter of heavy rain upon the roof. A violent summer storm was in progress, and Lily lay still awhile and listened in awe to the raging elements warring furiously together. In a temporary lull of the storm, she fancied she heard groans of pain arising from beneath the floor, and sprang up in bed, trembling violently. She listened again, but the sound was not repeated, and the girl smiled as she said to herself:
"It was only my nervous fancy, giving a human voice to the winds and rain. There can be no one in this old house save my cruel jailers and myself."
She laid her head down again upon the pillow, and as the ominous sounds were not repeated, and the wild thunder-storm decreased in violence, she fell asleep and did not wake until the sun was high in the summer heavens.
Haidee, entering with her breakfast and fresh water for her ablutions, scowled at her suspiciously.
"Did you sleep well?" interrogated she.
"Very well," answered Lily, coldly and briefly.
"Did nothing disturb you through the night?" said the old witch, watching the young girl keenly from beneath her shaggy, over-hanging eyebrows.
"Thunder awakened me," replied Lily, calmly, "and once, in a pause of the storm, it seemed to me I heard a human voice groaning; but I became satisfied afterward that it was only the wind in the trees."
"Most likely," said Haidee. "I'm glad you were not frightened. But they do say this room is haunted. A woman died in here, and they do say she walks about and wrings her hands and groans. I know nothing about it myself, but I will own that I have heard strange sounds here."
The long, lonely day wore on while she sat absorbed in her painful thoughts. Colville, with "malice prepense," had denied her the solace of books, work, or music, thinking that the unutterable weariness and stagnation of her life would drive her sooner into his eager arms.