“There—there—in the corner! The moon’s shining on it now—that figure.”
“Oh, that is a stone figure—a monument, or something of that sort. Let us go and look at it.”
“Not for the universe—I saw it move.”
“You fancied it moved; one can imagine all sorts of things by moonlight. Will you remain here and let me examine it?”
“Oh, no—you must not leave me! I—I think it may be something unearthly. Oh, why did I come here?—why did I come here?”
“Don’t be unnecessarily alarmed; I am convinced it is nothing but——”
“There, there—it moved again!” She grasped his arm and hid her face on his shoulder.
“Come,” said Hamilton, encouragingly; “let me take you to your room—to your sister.”
She trembled violently, but endeavoured to walk. The figure, however, seemed to possess the power of fascination—she would or could not remove her eyes from it; and though Hamilton assured her he remembered having seen it by daylight, and at first really thought so, he was soon unpleasantly convinced of his error. They saw the outline more and more distinctly every moment—could even distinguish the large folds of the drapery in the moonlight. Hamilton tried to hurry her forward; but at that moment the figure, slowly and stiffly raising an arm, pointed threateningly towards them. This was the acme. Crescenz clung to him in an agony of terror, and while Hamilton whispered to her, “For heaven’s sake, not to scream—to think of the consequences were she to be discovered,” she writhed as if in strong convulsions, gasped frightfully once or twice for breath, and then sank on his arm perfectly insensible.
Shocked beyond measure, but now convinced that someone had been amusing himself at their expense, Hamilton called out angrily, “Cease your mummeries, whoever you are—and see what you have done!”