Surely his mind was not affected by
that night's loss and agony. He was not about to throw himself headlong
from the summit of the tottering wall. Solomon turned sick, and clasped
his hands. His limbs trembled beneath him, and a cold sweat broke out
upon his pallid face.
If he complied with Mr Haredale's last injunction now, it was because he
had not the power to speak or move. He strained his gaze, and fixed it
on a patch of moonlight, into which, if he continued to ascend, he must
soon emerge. When he appeared there, he would try to call to him.
Again the ashes slipped and crumbled; some stones rolled down, and fell
with a dull, heavy sound upon the ground below. He kept his eyes upon
the piece of moonlight. The figure was coming on, for its shadow was
already thrown upon the wall. Now it appeared--and now looked round at
him--and now--
The horror-stricken clerk uttered a scream that pierced the air, and
cried, 'The ghost! The ghost!'
Long before the echo of his cry had died away, another form rushed out
into the light, flung itself upon the foremost one, knelt down upon its
breast, and clutched its throat with both hands.
'Villain!' cried Mr Haredale, in a terrible voice--for it was he.
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