'What?' I whispered.
'Sh—sh—your window's open—he only need put his leg over the sill to get in.'
'But if he isn't alive he can't put his leg over sills,' I whispered back incredulously. 'He's some poor drowned sailor washed ashore.'
'Oh be quiet!' implored Charlotte, burying her face on my shoulder; and having got over my own fright I marvelled at the abjectness of hers.
'Let me go. I want to look at him,' I said, trying to get away.
'Sh—sh—don't move—he'd hear—he is just outside——' And she clung to me in terror.
'But how can he hear if he isn't alive? Let me go——'
'No—no—he's sitting there—just outside—he's been sitting there for hours—and never moves—oh, it's that man!—I know it is—I knew he'd come——'
'What man?'
'Oh the dreadful, dreadful Berlin man who died——'