She was found soon after in a dead swoon on the floor, and before morning her spirit had joined that of her husband.

And not only hers--the little hope of the house shared the fate of her parents.

And when the day of burial came, Terence Gorman and his wife and daughter were all laid in one grave.
My mother, to whom the shock of the news had been more gently broken, and whose husband had at least escaped with his life, recovered; and with her twin boys, Tim and me, was able in due time to remove to the cabin on Fanad across the lough which Maurice Gorman (who by this sad tragedy had unexpectedly become the heir to his brother's estate) gave him for a home.
That was all I knew, except this: ever since that night Kilgorman House had remained empty, and people said that its only tenant was the wandering spirit of the distracted mother crying in the night for her husband and baby.
These sombre recollections were an ill preparation for our nocturnal visit to the haunted house.

As the rusty avenue-gate swung back with a hoarse creak I was less inclined than ever for the adventure.
But Tim was not to be hindered, and paced sturdily down the long avenue, summoning me to keep close and hold my tongue, for fear any one might be within earshot.
Kilgorman was a big, irregular mansion of several stories, with some pretensions to architecture, and space enough within its rambling walls to quarter a ship's company.

In front a field of long, rank grass stretched up to the very doorway, having long since overgrown the old carriage-drive.