liage； the church at the gates； the road； the tranquil hills； all reposing in the autumn day’s sun； the horizon bounded by a propitious sky； azure； marbled with pearly white。 No feature in the scene was extraordinary； but all was pleasing。 When I turned from it and repassed the trap…door； I could scarcely see my way down the ladder； the attic seemed black as a vault pared with that arch of blue air to which I had been looking up； and to that sunlit scene of grove； pasture； and green hill； of which the hall was the centre； and over which I had been gazing with delight。
Mrs。 Fairfax stayed behind a moment to fasten the trap…door； I； by drift of groping； found the outlet from the attic； and proceeded to descend the narrow garret staircase。 I lingered in the long passage to which this led； separating the front and back rooms of the third storey： narrow； low； and dim； with only one little window at the far end； and looking； with its two rows of small black doors all shut； like a corridor in some Bluebeard’s castle。
While I paced softly on； the last sound I expected to hear in so still a region； a laugh； struck my ear。 It was a curious laugh； distinct； formal； mirthless。 I stopped： the sound ceased； only for an instant； it began again； louder： for at first； though distinct； it was very low。 It passed off in a clamorous peal that seemed to wake an echo in every lonely chamber； though it originated but in one； and I could have pointed out the door whence the accents issued。
“Mrs。 Fairfax！” I called out： for I now heard her descending the great stairs。 “Did you hear that loud laugh？ Who is it？”
“Some of the servants； very likely；” she answered： “perhaps Grace Poole。”
“Did you hear it？” I again inquired。
“Yes； plainly： I often hear her： s