Boulder. Before
The curtain fell I saw a woman's head,
A lady's, on the stair.
Sir T. What do you mean?
Boulder. It seemed to rest upon the topmost step
From where I stood and watched.
Abbot. The lady climbed
No further than the middle of the stair—
That's what he means, I think. Her head
Appeared just in the entrance.
Boulder. My meaning, sir.
The palest face I ever saw: her eyeballs
Turned about and showed the whites; she gasped
For breath and drew a deep one. While I watched,
Wondering what might be right, her eyes came down,
Dull, dead, and horrible, and she hissed like hell.
Then everybody hissed. I hissed myself.
I beg your pardon: I could no more keep
From hissing than I could from crying out
When once a dervish stabbed me at Khartoum.
The gallery felt the same; I asked those near
What set them on it, and they said they heard
A hideous hiss that made them hiss like hell.
Sir T. So. And the lady?
Boulder. Vanished into space.
Sir T. Or down the stair. You knew her?
Boulder. No, Sir Tristram.
Sir T. Of course; your first night here.