Jim heard the crash of the lantern and the snap of teeth, and with that he fainted off in the darkness.
He had cut his forehead against the bars of the big kennel, and when he came to himself one of the hounds was licking his face through the grating.
Men told for years after how the old Squire came galloping up the drive that night, hoof to belly, his chin almost on mare Nonsuch's neck, his face like a man's who hears hell cracking behind him, and of the three dusky hounds which followed (the tale said) with clapping jaws and eyes like coach-lamps.
Down in the quiet church Taffy heard the outcry, and, laying down his plane, looked up and saw that his father had heard it too.
Mr.Raymond's mild eyes, shining through his spectacles, asked as plainly as words: "What was _that ?_" "Listen!" For a minute--two minutes--they heard nothing more.

Then out of the silence broke a rapid, muffled beat of hoofs, and Mr.Raymond clutched Taffy's arm as a yell--a cry not human, or if human, insane--ripped the night as you might rip linen, and fetched them to their feet.

Taffy gained the porch first; and just at that moment a black shadow heaved itself on the churchyard wall and came hurling over with a thud--a clatter of dropping stones--then a groan.
Before they could grasp what was happening the old Squire had extricated himself from the fallen mare, and came staggering across the graves.
"Hide me!--" He came with both arms outstretched, his face turned sideways.
Behind him, from the far side of the wall, came sounds--horrible shuffling sounds--and in the dusk they saw the head of one of the hounds above the coping and his forepaws clinging as he strained to heave himself over.
"Off! Keep 'en off!" They caught him by both hands, dragged him within, and slammed the door.
"Hide me! Hi--!" The word ended with a thud as he pitched headlong on the slate pavement.

Through the barred door the scream of the mare Nonesuch answered it..