Hark!" A terrible scream--a prolonged yell of horror and anguish--burst out of the silence of the moor.

That frightful cry turned the blood to ice in my veins.
"Oh, my God!" I gasped.

"What is it?
What does it mean ?" Holmes had sprung to his feet, and I saw his dark, athletic outline at the door of the hut, his shoulders stooping, his head thrust forward, his face peering into the darkness.
"Hush!" he whispered.

"Hush!" The cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had pealed out from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain.

Now it burst upon our ears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before.
"Where is it ?" Holmes whispered; and I knew from the thrill of his voice that he, the man of iron, was shaken to the soul.