The man kept on staring with hungry eyes,
Pointing at it, till I trembled to see;
Then said in a whisper, 'It's Jack Devize!'—
Shook himself wildly and turn'd upon me.
His hand sought his brow in a weak sad way,
A pitiful look came into his face:
'It is a brain-phantom,' I heard him say,
'Which my weary brain engenders in space!'
'No, Harry,' I whisper'd, 'it is not so;
I wish that it was—from my heart I do'—