And one night, when sitting late and alone over the embers of my open fire, feeling a little forlorn, I certainly heard moans coming from that direction.
It was not the wind, for, although it was late October and the breezes were sighing over summer's departure, this sound was entirely different and distinct.

Then (and what a shiver ran down my back!) I remembered hearing that a woman had been killed by falling down the steep cellar stairs, and the spot on the left side where she was found unconscious and bleeding had been pointed out to me.

There, I heard it again! Was it the wraith of the aged dame or the cries of that unfortunate creature?
Hush! Ellen can't have fallen down! I am really scared; the lamp seems to be burning dim and the last coal has gone out.

Is it some restless spirit, so unhappy that it must moan out its weary plaint?
I ought to be brave and go at once and look boldly down the cellar stairs and draw aside that waving portiere.

Oh, dear! If I only had some one to go with me and hold a light and--there it is--the third time.