It was nigh eleven
o'clock, and the passengers in the streets were thinning fast, when she
turned, doubtless to go home. The phantom still followed her.
She turned into the same bye street in which he had seen her first,
which, being free from shops, and narrow, was extremely dark. She
quickened her pace here, as though distrustful of being stopped, and
robbed of such trifling property as she carried with her. He crept along
on the other side of the road. Had she been gifted with the speed of
wind, it seemed as if his terrible shadow would have tracked her down.
At length the widow--for she it was--reached her own door, and, panting
for breath, paused to take the key from her basket. In a flush and glow,
with the haste she had made, and the pleasure of being safe at home,
she stooped to draw it out, when, raising her head, she saw him standing
silently beside her: the apparition of a dream.
His hand was on her mouth, but that was needless, for her tongue clove
to its roof, and her power of utterance was gone. 'I have been looking
for you many nights. Is the house empty? Answer me. Is any one inside?'
She could only answer by a rattle in her throat.
'Make me a sign.
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