The door into his bedroom
was open, and Griff, taking up one of the flat candlesticks, pursued
his researches, holding the flame to all chinks or cracks in the
wainscotting to detect draughts which might cause the dreary sounds,
which were much more like suppressed weeping than any senseless gust
of wind. Of draughts there were many, and he tried holding his hand
against each crevice to endeavour to silence the wails; but these
became more human and more distressful. Presently Clarence
exclaimed, 'There!' and on his face there was a whiteness and an
expression which always recurs to me on reading those words of
Eliphaz the Temanite, 'Then a spirit passed before my face, and the
hair of my flesh stood up.' Even Griff was awestruck as we cried,
'Where? what?'
'Don't you see her? There! By the press--look!'
'I see a patch of moonlight on the wall,' said Griff.
'Moonlight--her lamp. Edward, don't you see her?'
I could see nothing but a spot of light on the wall. Griff (plainly
putting a force on himself) came back and gave him a good-natured
shake. 'Dreaming again, old Bill. Wake up and come to your
senses.'
'I am as much in my senses as you are,' said Clarence. 'I see her
as plainly as I see you.'
Nor could any one doubt either the reality of the awe in his voice
and countenance, nor of the light--a kind of hazy ball--nor of the
choking sobs.
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