They were silent. After a pause of some length, "It is, perhaps, the voice of the spectres I told you of, Signor," said Spalatro, with a sneer. "Give me the dagger," said Schedoni.
Spalatro, instead of obeying, now grasped the arm of the Confessor, who, looking at him for an explanation of this extraordinary action, was still more surprised to observe the paleness and horror of his countenance. His starting eyes seemed to follow some object along the passage, and Schedoni, who began to partake of his feelings, looked forward to discover what occasioned this dismay, but could not perceive any thing that justified it. "What is it you fear?" said he at length.
Spalatro's eyes were still moving in horror, "Do you see nothing!" said he pointing. Schedoni looked again, but did not distinguish any object in the remote gloom of the passage, whither Spalatro's sight was now fixed.
"Come, come," said he, ashamed of his own weakness, "this is not a moment for such fancies. Awake from this idle dream."
Spalatro withdrew his eyes, but they retained all their wildness. "It was no dream," said he, in the voice of a man who is exhausted by pain, and begins to breathe somewhat more freely again. "I saw it as plainly as I now see you."
"Dotard! what did you see!" enquired the Confessor.
"It came before my eyes in a moment, and shewed itself distinctly and outspread."
"What shewed itself?" repeated Schedoni.
"And then it beckoned—yes, it beckoned me, with that blood-stained finger! and glided away down the passage, still beckoning——till it was lost in the darkness."
"This is very frenzy!" said Schedoni, excessively agitated. "Arouse yourself, and be a man!"