That was
by a kick of one of the earl's horses--he was groom there,' resumed
Sally. 'He used to be troubled with hearing the very sounds his master
used to make to bring him and old Oliver to the door, when he came back
late. It was only on very dark nights when there was no moon. They used
to hear all on a sudden, the whimpering and scraping of dogs at the hall
door, and the sound of the whistle, and the light stroke across the
window with the lash of the whip, just like as if the earl himself--may
his poor soul find rest--was there. First the wind 'id stop, like you'd
be holding your breath, then came these sounds they knew so well, and
when they made no sign of stirring or opening the door, the wind 'id
begin again with such a hoo-hoo-o-o-high, you'd think it was laughing,
and crying, and hooting all at once.'

Here old Sally's tale and her knitting ceased for a moment, as if she
were listening to the wind outside the haunted precincts of the Tiled
house; and she took up her parable again.

'The very night he met his death in England, old Oliver, the butler, was
listening to Dalton--for Dalton was a scholar--reading the letter that
came to him through the post that day, telling him to get things ready,
for his troubles wor nearly over and he expected to be with them again
in a few days, and maybe almost as soon as the letter; and sure enough,
while he was reading, there comes a frightful rattle at the window, like
some one all in a tremble, trying to shake it open, and the earl's
voice, as they both conceited, cries from outside, "Let me in, let me
in, let me in!" "It's him," says the butler. "'Tis so, bedad," says
Dalton, and they both looked at the windy, and at one another--and then
back again--overjoyed, in a soart of a way, and frightened all at onst.
Old Oliver was bad with the rheumatiz. So away goes Dalton to the
hall-door, and he calls "who's there?" and no answer. "Maybe," says
Dalton, to himself, "'tis what he's rid round to the back-door;" so to
the back-door with him, and there he shouts again--and no answer, and
not a sound outside--and he began to feel quare, and to the hall door
with him back again. "Who's there? do you hear? who's there?" he shouts,
and receives no answer still. "I'll open the door at any rate," says he,
"maybe it's what he's made his escape," for they knew all about his
troubles, and wants to get in without noise, so praying all the
time--for his mind misgave him it might not be al