tion. My mother was white as death, and trembling so
that the candle in her hand shook to and fro, casting wild dancing
shadows on the wall behind.

"Oh, Jasper, listen, listen!"

I listened, but could hear nothing save the splashing of spray and
rain upon my window, and above it the voice of the storm; now moaning
as a creature in pain, now rising and growing into an angry roar
whereat the whole house from chimney to base shook and shuddered, and
anon sinking slowly with loud sobbings and sighings as though the
anguish of a million tortured souls were borne down the blast.

"Mother, I hear nothing but the storm."

"Nothing but the storm! Oh, Jasper, are you sure you hear nothing
but the storm?"

"Nothing else, mother, though that is bad enough."

She seemed relieved a little, but still trembled sadly, and caught
her breath with every fresh roar. The tempest had gathered fury, and
was now raging as though Judgment Day were come, and earth about to
be blotted out. For some minutes we listened almost motionless, but
heard nothing save the furious elements; and, indeed, it was hard to
believe that any sound on earth could be audible above such a din.
At last I turned to my mother and said--

"Mother dear, it is nothing but the storm. You were thinking of
father, and that made you nervous. Go back to bed--it is so cold
here--and try to go to sleep. What was it you thought you heard?"

"Dear Jasper, you are a good boy, and I suppose you are right, for
you can hear nothing, and I can hear nothing now. But, oh, Jasper!
it was so terrible, and I seemed to hear it so plainly; though I
daresay it was only my--Oh, God! there it is again! listen! listen!"

This time I heard--heard clearly and unmistakably, and, hearing, felt
the blood in my veins turn to very ice.

Shrill and distinct above the roar of the storm, which at the moment
had somewhat lulled, there rose a prolonged wail, or rather shriek,
as of many human voices rising slowly in one passionate appeal to the
mercy of Heaven, and dying away in sobbing, shuddering despair as the
wild blast broke out again with the mocking laughter of all the
fiends in the pit--a cry without similitude on earth, yet surely and
awfully human; a cry that rings in my ears even now, and will
continue to ring until I die.

I sprang from bed, forced the window open and looked out. The wind
flung a drenching shower of spray over my face and thin night-dress,
then tore past up