He had a sensation as of cold water being quietly poured down his back, and his mouth felt dry and hot.
The ghost stood motionless with its back to the window, and a horror seized upon Jem that it might perhaps turn, see him, and—and—he did not know what else to dread!
The horror was not ill-founded.
The ghost turned.
Jem saw the hideous white, bleached skull-face, and as the gleaming eyes seemed to pierce him through he fell on the ground, stricken by that nameless horror before which the strongest man must succumb.
How long he lay there he did not know.
When he feigned consciousness he found himself covered with dust, fearfully cold, but with no tangible injury.
He rose, shuddered, and striking the dust from his clothes with a shaking, uncertain hand walked slowly on, averting his eyes from the dreadful window.
"Shall I tell the captain what I've seen?" he thought. "No, he'll swear at me, and say I was drunk, and I should think I was, only I know it 'ud take more than three pints o' beer to knock me silly. Ugh! I shan't get the sight o' that thing's face and eyes out o' my head till I'm as dead as she was. This is a rum, unearthly sort o' place, this is, and if summat uncommon queer and nasty don't happen afore long I'm a Dutchman."