The sad cry was again heard, louder and fiercer than before. It
now seemed to proceed from the window, and again it appeared as
if issuing from the door. At times it would seem as if coming from
afar, whilst again it would appear as if coming down the chimney
or springing from the ground beneath their feet. Sometimes the cry
resembled the low, plaintive wail of a female in distress, and in
a moment it was raised to a prolonged yell, loud and furious, and
as if coming from a thousand throats; now the sound resembled a low,
melancholy chant, and then was quickly changed to a loud, broken,
demoniac laugh. It continued thus, with little intermission, for
about a quarter of an hour, when it died away, and was succeeded
by a heavy, creaking sound, as if of some large waggon, amidst
which the loud tramp of horses' footsteps might be distinguished,
accompanied with a strong, rushing wind. This strange noise
proceeded round and round the house two or three times, then went
down the lane which led to the road, and was heard no more. Jack
O'Malley stood aghast, and Harry Taylor, with all his philosophy
and scepticism, was astonished and frightened.

"A dreadful night this, Moya," said Jack.

"Yes," said she, "that is the dead-coach; I often heard it before,
and have sometimes seen it."

"Seen, did you say?" said Harry; "pray describe it."

"Why," replied the old crone, "it's like any other coach, but twice
as big, and hung over with black cloth, and a black coffin on the
top of it, and drawn by headless black horses."