lonely spot, and it seemed certain that, having heard of its master's
absence, a band of highwaymen, with whom the countryside abounded, had
planned to turn burglars. The occupants, consisting as they did of women
and children, could at best make scant resistance; and consequently
there was much quaking and trembling, until, finding the bolts and bars
too strong for them, the unwelcome visitors withdrew.

Unmeasured was Mompesson's wrath when he returned and learned of the
alarm. He only hoped, he declared, that the villains would venture
back--he would give them a greeting such as had not been known since
the days of the great war. That very night he had opportunity to make
good his boast, for soon after the household had sought repose the
disturbance broke out anew. Lighting a lantern, slipping into a
dressing-gown, and snatching up a brace of pistols, the Squire dashed
down-stairs, the noise becoming louder the nearer he reached the door.
Click, clash--the bolts were slipped back, the key was turned, and,
lantern extended, he peered into the night.

The moment he opened the door all became still, and nothing but empty
darkness met his eyes. Almost immediately, however, the knocking began
at a second door, to which, after making the first fast, he hurried,
only to find the same result, and to hear, with mounting anger, a tumult
at yet another door. Again silence when this was thrown open. But,
stepping outside, as he afterward told the story, Mompesson became aware
of "a strange and hollow sound in the air." Forthwith the suspicion
entered his mind that the noises he had heard might be of supernatural
origin. To him, true son of the seventeenth century, a suspicion of this
sort was tantamount to certainty, and an unreasoning alarm filled his
soul; an alarm that grew into deadly fear when, safe in the bed he had
hurriedly sought, a tremendous booming sound came from the top of the
house.

Here, in an upper room, for safe-keeping and as an interesting relic of
the Civil War, had been placed the beggar's drum, and the terrible
thought occurred to Mompesson: "Can it be that the drummer is dead, and
that his spirit has returned to torment me?"

A few nights later no room for doubt seemed left. Instead of the
nocturnal shouting and knocking, there began a veritable concert from
the room containing the drum. This concert, Mompesson informed his
friends, opened with a peculiar "hurling in the air over the house," and
clos