Gray shrank and cowered before the frightened looks of Learmont, and after a pause he said,—
“What have you seen—what heard?”
“Twice now I have seen a face which, to look upon has nearly turned my heart to stone.”
“A—a—face?”
“Yes—’tis an angel or a devil. Listen to me.”
“I—I will—I will.”
“Once on the steps of this, my mansion, at an hour when my heart was lighter than its wont, and I was far from dreaming of such a sight, a face appeared before me. It seemed that of a young girl, but so like—oh, so like him—who sleeps in that dread spot which ever rises like a spectre before my affrighted eyes.”
“The smithy?” said Gray.
“And once again,” continued Learmont, not heeding Gray’s interruption, “once again I saw it. Then another was with me, and I know it was not of this world because he saw it not.”
“The same face?”