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: she sews in one of these rooms.
Sometimes Leah is with her; they are frequently noisy together." The laugh was repeated in its low, syllabic tone, and terminated in an odd murmur.
"Grace!" exclaimed Mrs.Fairfax.
I really did not expect any Grace to answer; for the laugh was as tragic, as preternatural a laugh as any I ever heard; and, but that it was high noon, and that no circumstance of ghostliness accompanied the curious cachinnation; but that neither scene nor season favoured fear, I should have been superstitiously afraid.

However, the event showed me I was a fool for entertaining a sense even of surprise.
The door nearest me opened, and a servant came out,--a woman of between thirty and forty; a set, square-made figure, red-haired, and with a hard, plain face: any apparition less romantic or less ghostly could scarcely be conceived.
"Too much noise, Grace," said Mrs.Fairfax.

"Remember directions!" Grace curtseyed silently and went in.
"She is a person we have to sew and assist Leah in her housemaid's work," continued the widow; "not altogether unobjectionable in some points, but she does well enough.