uncomfortable chill. He had known justsuch a demonstration before, but on one occasion only. And now it wasbehaving in exactly the same way. Its shrill growlings even increased.Melian dived into the shadow to coax it out, then reappeared, holdingthe tiny creature aloft.
"Poogie. What's the matter with you?" she cried. "Be quiet now, and goseeps again."
But though it curled itself on her lap, it showed no intention of goingto sleep. Instead, it lifted its little fluffy head and growled again,though not so furiously as it had done when alone.
"I do believe it's afraid of something," said the girl, wonderingly."It must be something outside. Look. It's staring towards the window."
Mervyn could not for the life of him account for it, but that a coldshiver was running through his whole being, there could be no doubt.His back was to the window, the blinds were down and there was nodraught. But right under this window, and against the wall, was thecouch upon which the dead man had fallen asleep--never to wake again.And in this direction the kitten was now staring--and growling; growlingjust as it had growled on that night of the opening of the door. And,more marvellous still, a feeling was upon him that he dare not lookround, dare not turn his head and follow the little creature's set,unquiet glance--and that in the thoroughly warmed and now cheerful room.But Melian's voice and movement broke the spell.
"What is it, poogie," she was saying, advancing to the window, andincidentally to the couch. "Another poogie outside or a dog--Oh, youlittle beast!"
She had broken off suddenly, dropping the kitten on to the table, underwhich it promptly dived and crouched, growling again. For it had grownperfectly frantic as she was carrying it to the window and had struckits claws into her hand, drawing blood.
Mervyn sprang to his feet.
"What? It has scratched you?" he cried, taking the long white hand andexamining it concernedly.
"Oh, it's nothing," laughed the girl.
"Nothing or not, we'll bathe it a bit," he said, going over to thesideboard, and dashing some water into a tumbler. "Any sort of woundshould be bathed at once, just in case there might be something left init," and he proceeded to perform that process then and there.
"Oh, it's all safe," laughed the girl. "Poor little poogie! I supposeit was scared over something and had to get away at any price. I'm deadcert, it didn't mean it."
"No--no," assented Mervyn. "Cats are extraordinarily `nervy' things. Ibelieve they've a sight more imagination than they're given credit for.It's quite likely it was aware of something outside to which it had anobjection, a stoat perhaps or even a badger. Now a dog would havebarked the house down, but there'd have been no scare."
"Of course. By the way, Uncle Seward, I wonder you don't keep a dog ortwo. They are such jolly beasts to have--especially in a place likethis."
"I've tried it, and they've disappeared. They get into the coverts youknow, and then--! I don't care to keep one always on a chain. It'sbeastly rough luck on them."
He had tried it, and the dogs had disappeared, even as he had said.They had done so, however, on their own initiative. But he did not tellher this.
Yet it struck him that she must instinctively have grasped--or beenaffected by--something of the "influence" which at times seemed to hauntthe place. She, too, now kept looking towards the blind-drawn window,and that not in her natural way. So far he had guarded her from anyrumours from outside as to its sinister repute; and, as we have said,had threatened the old couple with the last extremity if they should letgo anything. And now, just as he was congratulating himself that shewould settle down quite happily and contentedly, comes this untowardmysterious making towards upset. And now, all at once, she had grownquite grave, quite subdued.
"Uncle Seward," she said, suddenly. "Do you remember what I said thenight I arrived--that this place ought to be haunted?"
"Yes, dear, and I remember my answer--that every place not screechinglynew, etc, etc, is supposed to be."
"Well, is it?"
The directness of the question was a trifle staggering, coming just whenit did.
"Well, I've been in it some months--all alone too, mind you," heanswered, "and I've never seen anything. All alone, mind," hereiterated, "through long, dark winter evenings and nights. Of course,that poor chap coming to grief here so mysteriously, might give rise toall sorts of yarns among the yokels. But then, where is the house--built longer ago than last year--in which some one or other hasn't died?No, child; you mustn't bother your little gold head over such boshyideas as that. And if you listen to all the old women of both sexesround the country side, why half of them are afraid to cross theirvillage street after dark, unless some one invites them to the pub."
She laughed; yet somehow or other her laugh did not ring quitespontaneous.
"Of course," she said. "But--"
"But--what?"
"Oh, nothing. As you say, it's astonishing how one's imagination canplay the fool with one. Tell me, Uncle Seward, do you believe in thatsort of thing?"
"What? In imagination? Of course I do."
"No--no. I mean in places being haunted, and apparitions and all that?"
"No. Certainly not. The Christmas numbers have a great deal to answerfor in that line. Surroundings, solitude, the state of your nerves--theweather, even--all do the rest. You can get yourself into a state whichI believe theologians call `the dispositions'--which done into plainEnglish means that if you want to see a thing, you can, in the long run,bring yourself to see it--in imagination."
"Only in imagination. You're sure you mean that, Uncle Seward?"
"I should rather think I was sure. Go to bed now, child,"--she hadlighted her candle--"and chuck out all that sort of disquieting bosh.Why, we are as jolly here together as we can be, and we are going to beever so much jollier. So chuck these imaginings--by the way, justbecause the little poogie starts growling at nothing in particular. Eh?Sounds rather absurd doesn't it?"
"It does rather," she said, with a laugh as they bade each othergood-night. But there was just a subtle something about her laugh,about her tone of voice, even about the expression of her eyes, thatleft her uncle in a state of vague uneasiness. Something must haveoccurred to alarm her; but then women were "skeery" creatures--especially where the imaginative element came in. But for all that hedidn't want even this to come in where Melian was concerned.
He sat on, after she had gone, sat on over the cosy fire, thinking. Hecould hear her footsteps overhead as she crossed and recrossed herroom--could hear her sweet young voice trilling forth snatches of allsorts of melodies, and again he blessed the chance that had sent herhere to him in his loneliness.
He lighted another pipe, and tilted a final "nightcap" out of the squarebottle at his elbow. The little black kitten jumped lightly up on tohis shoulder and rubbed its soft little woolly shape against his cheek,then dropped down on to his knees and sat purring.
What could have occurred to set up a scare in the child, he wondered?Something had--obviously--but he had purposely evaded pressing the pointfor fear of making it too important. Well, if it came to getting on hernerves, he would, by hook or by crook get her away--at any rate for atime. As a matter of hard fact he had grown attached to Heath Hover--strangely so--and he occupied it practically rent free, that was for thesheer keeping of it up; and this was a consideration. Also he enjoyed afair modicum of sport--likewise free. But if it were to come to makinga choice between this and his niece--why by now he knew that there wouldbe no sort of difficulty in deciding.
He dropped more and more into the dreamy--and rather contented--stage.He was looking forward to a very pleasurable time before him when theyear should grow and mellow into glorious spring and golden summer. Thesound of footsteps overhead had ceased now, and that for some time. Shewas asleep, and had forgotten her uncanny imaginings. He found himselflooking forward to the morrow when she would be with him again--hersweet, quick, animated face, and the golden hair shining in thesunlight.
And
then?--What was this? A sudden pounding of feet overhead--astrange, half stifled cry--a rush down the old creaky stairs. In afraction of a second he was at the door, and as he opened it, framedagainst the dark background of passage and staircase, Melian wasstanding, her face set with a strange horror that seemed to turn thespectator's blood to ice, the blue eyes dilating in a wild stare, asthough they saw--or had seen--something not of the earth earthly.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
THE STONE AGAIN.
"Well? What is it, dear? Forgotten something?"
With an effort he had put on a light, matter-of-fact tone. He pretendednot to
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