Every now
and then he groaned in the agonies of toothache; and each time H.C.
shivered and looked back for the ghost. It was excusable, for the candle
threw weird shadows around, which flitted about like phantoms playing at
hide-and-seek. The night was so calm that the flame scarcely flickered.
In spite of the darkness, we could see how picturesque was the old town,
and we longed for daylight. Against the dark background of sky the yet
darker outlines of the houses stood out mysteriously. We turned into a
narrow street where opposite neighbours might almost have shaken hands
with each other from the upper windows. Wonderful gabled roofs succeeded
each other in a long procession. There seemed not a vestige of anything
modern in the whole thoroughfare. We were in a scene of the Middle Ages,
back in those far-off days.
Here and there a light shining in a room revealed a large latticed
window, running the whole width of the house. In spite of Andre's
fatigue and burden, we could only stand and gaze. No human power could
mesmerise us, but the window did so.
What could be more startlingly weird and picturesque than the bright
reflection of these latticed panes, surrounded by this intense darkness,
these mysterious outlines? Almost we expected to see a ghostly vision
advance from the interior, and, opening the lattice with a skeleton
hand, ask our pleasure at thus invading their solitude at the witching
hour--for the vibration of the bells tolling midnight was still upon the
air, travelling into space, perhaps announcing to other worlds that to
us another day was dead, another day was born.
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