voice of sepulchral warning was the white-sheeted figure, coming towards
him with a wavering, ghostly motion, fire shooting from the demon-like
eyes, and flaming from the hideous mouth.

Brossard sank on his knees in a shivering heap, and began crossing
himself. His hair was upright with horror, and his tongue stiff. Jules
knew who it was that danced around them in such giddy circles, first
darting towards them with threatening gestures, and then gliding back to
utter one of those awful, sickening wails. He knew that under that
fiery head and wrapped in that spectral dress was his "fearless friend,"
who, according to promise, had hastened her aid to lend; nevertheless,
he was afraid of her himself. He had never imagined that anything could
look so terrifying.

The wail reached Henri's ears and aroused his curiosity. Cautiously
opening the kitchen door, he thrust out his head, and then nearly fell
backward in his haste to draw it in again and slam the door. One glimpse
of the ghost in the barnyard was quite enough for Henri.

Altogether the performance probably did not last longer than a minute,
but each of the sixty seconds seemed endless to Brossard. With a final
die-away moan Joyce glided towards the gate, delighted beyond measure
with her success; but her delight did not last long. Just as she turned
the corner of the house, some one standing in the shadow of it clutched
her. A strong arm was thrown around her, and a firm hand snatched the
lantern, and tore the sheet away from her face.

[Illustration: "BROSSARD, BEWARE! BEWARE!"]

It was Joyce's turn to be terrified. "Let me go!" she shrieked, in