ater, for there was but little difference in the
light--when a resounding pistol report rang through the silent
house. Eustace awoke with an instant consciousness of having slept
on his self-imposed sentry work. He felt queer and oddly shaken as,
with a cry of dismay, he sprang out of bed and rushed into his
mother's room.

"Oh, what is it?" exclaimed Mrs. Orban, frightened out of her wits
by the noise.

She stared at Eustace, who stood, revolver in hand, gazing blankly
round the room.

"I don't know," he began, stopped abruptly, and added in a choked
voice, "Oh, look! look!"

He was staring towards the window. Outside on the veranda,
crouching on all fours in the dusk, was a dark figure. With a
strange, sudden movement it raised itself and stretched out an arm
towards the room--standing lank, tall, and horribly sinister.

Without a moment's hesitation Eustace raised his hand and fired.
There was a splintering of glass, a wild howl of pain, and the
figure dropped like a stone.

"Eustace," cried Mrs. Orban in a horrified voice, "what have you
done?"

"I had to fire first," returned the boy in an odd, sullen tone.

The figure outside moved, and with a succession of dreadful yells
began rapidly crawling along the veranda towards the stairs.

At the bedroom door appeared the entire household, Robertson
leading the way, his usually ruddy face ghastly with astonishment.

"What on earth is happening?" he asked, staring at Eustace and his
mother.

"I've shot something," Eustace faltered. "It is going down the
steps--"

Robertson waited to hear no more. Seizing the boy's revolver, he
took a short cut through the house for the veranda steps.

"What was it?" asked the frightened women, as they huddled together
in the doorway.

"I don't know," Eustace answered--"a black-fellow of some sort. I
wonder if I--I killed him."

There had fallen a sudden silence outside; the awful howling had
ceased.

Eustace sat down on the edge of his mother's bed feeling sick and
shivery. To have killed a man--a white fellow, black-fellow, any
sort of fellow; it was horrible!

The most extraordinary sounds arose from the veranda. Had Robertson
gone mad, or what could be the matter with him?

"Ho-ho-ho! ha-ha-ha! ho-ho-ho-ho!" he roared.

Every one stood as if paralyzed. There was something terribly
uncanny about the laughter. It seemed so ill-timed, so jarring and
unkind.

Robertson appeared at the broken window.

"Upon m