She looked at him; a long wondering look. Apparently it satisfied her, for she answered: “Aye. Mebbe ’tes nobbut wind,” and went on with her sewing.
He drew his chair nearer to her to protect her if it came. He could almost touch her where she sat.
The latch lifted. The door opened, and, his entrance and his passage unseen, Mr. Greathead stood before them.
The table hid the lower half of his form; but above it he was steady and solid in his terrible semblance of flesh and blood.
Steven looked at Dorsy. She was staring at the phantasm with an innocent, wondering stare that had no fear in it at all. Then she looked at Steven. An uneasy, frightened, searching look, as though to make sure whether he had seen it.
That was her fear—that he should see it, that he should be frightened, that he should be haunted.
He moved closer and put his hand on her shoulder. He thought, perhaps, she might shrink from him because she knew that it was he who was haunted. But no, she put up her hand and held his, gazing up into his face and smiling.
Then, to his amazement, the phantasm smiled back at them; not with mockery, but with a strange and terrible sweetness. Its face lit up for one instant with a sudden, beautiful, shining light; then it was gone.
“Did tha see ’im, Steve?”
“Aye.”