'What is she like?' I asked, holding his hand, for, though infected
by his dread, my fears were chiefly for the effect on him; but he
was much calmer and less horror-struck than on the previous night,
though still he shuddered as he answered in a low voice, as if loth
to describe a lady in her presence, 'A dark cloak with the hood
fallen back, a kind of lace headdress loosely fastened, brown hair,
thin white face, eyes--oh, poor thing!--staring with fright, dark--
oh, how swollen the lids! all red below with crying--black dress
with white about it--a widow kind of look--a glove on the arm with
the lamp. Is she beckoning--looking at us? Oh, you poor thing, if
I could tell what you mean!'
I felt the motion of his muscles in act to rise, and grasped him.
Griff held him with a strong hand, hoarsely crying, 'Don't!--don't--
don't follow the thing, whatever you do!'
Clarence hid his face. It was very awful and strange. Once the
thought of conjuring her to speak by the Holy Name crossed me, but
then I saw no figure; and with incredulous Griffith standing by, it
would have been like playing, nor perhaps could I have spoken. How
long this lasted there is no knowing; but presently the light moved
towards the walled-up door and seemed to pass into it. Clarence
raised his head and said she was gone. We breathed freely.
'The farce is over,' said Griff.
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