mind steadied, getting accustomed (as one's mind gets accustomed to
anything), it seemed to me as if some uneasy, miserable creature was
pacing up and down before a closed door. Sometimes--but that must have
been excitement--I thought I heard a sound like knocking, and then
another burst, "Oh, mother! mother!" All this close, close to the space
where I was standing with my lantern, now before me, now behind me: a
creature restless, unhappy, moaning, crying, before the vacant door-way,
which no one could either shut or open more.

"Do you hear it, Bagley? do you hear what it is saying?" I cried,
stepping in through the door-way. He was lying against the wall, his eyes
glazed, half dead with terror. He made a motion of his lips as if to
answer me, but no sounds came; then lifted his hand with a curious
imperative movement as if ordering me to be silent and listen. And how
long I did so I cannot tell. It began to have an interest, an exciting
hold upon me, which I could not describe. It seemed to call up visibly a
scene any one could understand,--a something shut out, restlessly
wandering to and fro; sometimes the voice dropped, as if throwing itself
down, sometimes wandered off a few paces, growing sharp and clear. "Oh,
mother, let me in! oh, mother, mother, let me in! oh, let me in!" Every
word was clear to me. No wonder the boy had gone wild with pity. I tried
to steady my mind upon Roland, upon his conviction that I could do
something, but my head swam with the excitement, even when I partially
overcame the terror. At last the words died away, and there was a sound
of sobs and moaning. I cried out, "In the name of God, who are you?" with
a kind of feeling in my mind that to use the name of God was profane,
seeing that I did not believe in ghosts or anything supernatural; but I
did it all the same, and waited, my heart giving a leap of terror lest
there should be a reply. Why this should have been I cannot tell, but I
had a feeling that if there was an answer it would be more than I could