"Ghosts or not, Nora," he answered, "the house isn't healthy, and I'd rather you didn't stay."
She laughed and walked in. Shrugging his shoulders, he followed her, closed the door, and told her what had happened since he had telephoned the inspector. Her face, he noticed, had grown pale, and a troubled look had entered her eyes. She shivered.
"What an uncomfortable place! I can guess what Clara meant. Don't you get an impression of great suffering, Jim?"
He was familiar with her superstitious sensibility which at times seemed nearly psychic. It irritated him that to his own matter-of-fact mind the house had from the first conveyed a sense of unhealth. As he started to laugh at her, Nora with a quick movement shrank against the wall.
"What's that?" she whispered.
Garth strained forward, listening, too. He had heard what Clara had described, a crying, smothered and scarcely audible, and he knew what the girl had meant when she had spoken of a voice from the grave—a dead voice.
Across the moaning cut a shrill feminine scream.
"Stay here," Garth called to Nora as he started up the stairs.
He heard her voice, like an echo behind him, as full of misgivings as Clara's had been.
"I am afraid."
At the foot of the attic stairs he saw the white figure of Mrs. Taylor, staring upward, trembling, hysterical, a violent fear in her eyes.
