There was a something beside sound entered, for by the faint light which streamed in over the top of the shutters he could see a dark blotch moving slightly, and, as he felt chilled to the marrow, the dark patch changed slowly to a dimly-seen face of so ghastly a kind that he stood there gazing wildly, and fixed helplessly to the spot.
Volume Three—Chapter Nine.
Cousin Thompson’s Tooth-ache.
Regularly day after day.
The restless, wild-beast pace went on upstairs with intervals hour after hour, as, for the first time for many years, Horace North felt the terrible side of his lonely life, and the want of some one in whom he could really confide—mother, wife, sister—who would believe in him fully; but there were none.
His life of study had made him self-sustaining until now. He had had no great call made upon him. But now there was the want, and he sat for hours thinking of his state, only to spring up again and tramp his room.
To whom could he fly for counsel—Salis? The old housekeeper? The old doctor in London? Thompson, his cousin, then in the place?
“No, no, no! How could I explain myself? If I told all my feelings, all I have done, they would say that I was mad.