God help us! that's what she's been ever since."

The two men were silent. Middleton had raised his voice, speaking with
fierce excitement. It was obvious that he had only paused for breath. He
had more to say.

"I was by your side, Squire," he went on, "when her ladyship caught up
the knife and ran at you, and, as you well know, it was I, seizing her
from behind, that saved a double tragedy that night, and it was I who
went for the doctor the next morning, when she'd stolen into your room
in the night and missed your throat by a bare inch. I heard her call
to you, heard her threat. It was a madwoman's threat, Squire, but her
ladyship is a madwoman at this moment, and with a knife in her hand
you'll never be safe in this house."

"We must see," Dominey said quietly, "that she is not allowed to get
possession of any weapon."

"Aye! Make sure of that," Middleton scoffed, "with Mother Unthank by her
side! Her ladyship's mad because of the horror of that night, but Mother
Unthank is mad with hate, and there isn't a week passes," the old man
went on, his voice dropping lower and his eyes burning, "that Roger
Unthank's spirit don't come and howl for your blood beneath their
window. If you stay here this night, Squire, come over and sleep in the
little room they've got ready for you on the other side of the house."

Mr. Mangan had lost his smooth, after-dinner appearance. His face was
rumpled, and his coffee was growing cold. This was a very different
thing from the vague letters and rumours which had reached him from time
to time and which he had put out of his mind with all the contempt of
the materialist.

"It is very good of you to warn me, Middleton," Dominey said, "but I can
lock my door, can I not?"

"Lock the door of the oak room!" was the scornful reply. "And what good
would that do? You know well enough that the wall's double on three
sides, and there are more secret entrances than even I know of. The
oak room's not for you this night, Squire. It's hoping to get you there
that's keeping them quiet."

"Tell us what you mean, Middleton," the lawyer asked, with ill-assumed
indifference, "when you spoke of the howling of Roger Unthank's spirit?"

The old man turned patiently around.

"Just that, sir," he replied. "It's round the house most weeks. Except
for me odd nights, and Mrs. Unthank, there's been scarcely a servant
would sleep in the Hall for years. Some of the maids they do come up
from the village, bu