"Papa, I feel strangely," she said, putting her hands to her brow; "my head whirls, my—oh! oh! God, oh, God, what is that?"
With a wild and ringing shriek of horror she tore herself from his arms, and stood pointing at the window with one jeweled finger, her blue eyes dark and dilated, her face transfigured with terror.
That frightened shriek penetrated to Georgina's room across the hall. The bride and her mother and sister all made a rush for Queenie's room, apprehending some dire calamity.
They found her standing in the centre of the floor, her face transfigured with terror, her shaking finger pointed at the window, while she wailed aloud in accents of remorse and despair:
"The dead! The dead!"
"Queenie, Queenie, you rave!" her father exclaimed, catching her arm as she held it forward, still pointing at the window.
She turned around and clung to him, sobbing wildly:
"A ghost was there, papa—a horrible ghost!"
"No, no, dear, there was nothing—I saw nothing. Queenie. There is no one at the window," he answered soothingly.
She gave a fearful, shuddering look at the window.