One evening, however,—a clear and starlit one it was, with everything easily seen at a considerable distance—Tom was taking a last look round before turning in, when he saw that figure again crossing the plain not a hundred yards away.
He followed slowly. He seemed impelled to follow. The figure glided on silently far in front, and finally disappeared in the orange grove where the graves were.
While following the strange figure Tom had experienced no fear; but immediately it disappeared the same unaccountable feeling of apprehension stole over him, and he retraced his steps to the hut, nor would he have gazed behind him for all the world.
He was convinced now in his own mind that he had seen a spectre and nothing else.
Curiosity led Brandy and him to visit the orange grove next day, nevertheless.
What they saw almost took their breath away for a moment.
The grave had been opened, the skeletons taken up and thrown on one side, and quite a quantity of earth excavated from the bed in which they had lain.
“No spectre has done this,” said Tom as soon as he had recovered the power of speech.
“Look, marster,” said Brandy; “it is de ebil man. He hab drefful claws.”
The sides of the grave really did appear to have been clawed at, and this only deepened the mystery.