In one of the pauses between the sounds of the waves, I heard a curious
noise in the house--a sort of moan, coming at regular intervals.
And, as I sat up to make out where it was, another sound caught my
attentive ear. Drip, drip, drip, went something out in the hall, and in
an instant the tale told me on Sunset Hill came back with unpleasant
reality.
"Nonsense! It is raining, and the roof leaks," I said to myself, while
an unpleasant thrill went through me, and fancy, aided by indigestion,
began to people the house with ghostly inmates.
No rain had fallen for weeks, and peeping through my curtain, I saw the
big, bright stars shining in a cloudless sky; so that explanation
failed, and still the drip, drip, drip went on.
Likewise the moaning--so distinctly now that it was clear that the
little back bed-room was next the chamber in which I was quaking at that
very moment.
"Some one is sleeping there," I said, and then remembered that all the
rooms were locked, and all the keys but mine in Mrs. Grant's pocket, up
at the house.
"Well, let the ghosts enjoy themselves; I won't disturb them if they let
me alone.
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