edges of one of them, and
his mountaineering habits standing him in good stead, protected a
little from the force of the blast by a huge stack of chimneys that
rose to windward: while he clung thus waiting--louder than he had yet
heard it, almost in his very ear, arose the musical ghost-cry--this
time like that of a soul in torture. The moon came out, as at the cry,
to see, but Donal could spy nothing to suggest its origin. As if
disappointed, the moon instantly withdrew, the darkness again fell, and
the wind rushed upon him full of keen slanting rain, as if with fierce
intent of protecting the secret: there was little chance of success
that night! he must break off the hunt till daylight! If there was any
material factor in the sound, he would be better able to discover it
then! By the great chimney-stack he could identify the spot where he
had been nearest to it! There remained for the present but the task of
finding his way back to his tower.

A difficult task it was--more difficult than he anticipated. He had not
an idea in what direction his tower lay--had not an idea of the track,
if track it could be called, by which he had come. One thing only was
clear--it was somewhere else than where he was. He set out therefore,
like any honest pilgrim who knows only he must go somewhere else, and
began his wanderings. He found himself far more obstructed than in
coming. Again and again he could go no farther in the direction he was
trying, again and again had to turn and try another. It was
half-an-hour at least before he came to a spot he knew, and by that
time, with the rain the wind had fallen a little. Against a break in
the clouds he saw the outline of one of his store-sheds, and his way
was thenceforward plain. He caught up his pail, filled it with coal and
wood, and hastened to his nest as quickly as cramped joints would carry
him, hopeless almost of finding his fire still alive.

But when he reached the stair, and had gone down a few steps, he saw a
strange sight: below him, at his door, with a small wax-taper in her
hand, stood the form of a woman, in the posture of one who had just
knocked, and was hearkening for an answer. So intent was she, and so
loud was the wind among the roofs, that she had not heard his step, and
he stood a moment afraid to speak lest he should startle her. Presently
she knocked again. He made an attempt at ventriloquy, saying in a voice
to sound farther off than it was, "Come in." A hand