“Godolphin, I—— What’s that?”
The great black Shadow, stretching out there in the distance, had attracted the attention of Lord Averil. He stood with his forefinger extended, pointed towards it.
“That is what they call the Shadow of Ashlydyat,” quietly replied Thomas Godolphin.
Lord Averil had never before seen it. He had heard enough of it. Attentively regarding it, he did not for some time speak.
“Do you believe in it?” he asked at length.
“Believe in it?” repeated Thomas Godolphin. “I believe that a Shadow does appear there on occasions. I cannot believe otherwise, with that ocular demonstration before me.”
“And how do you account for it?” asked Lord Averil.
“I have been all my life trying to do so. And have come to the conclusion that it is not to be accounted for.”
“But I have always treated the report as the most perfect folly,” rejoined Lord Averil.
“Ay. No doubt. As I should do but for that”—and Thomas Godolphin nodded towards the Shadow, on which the peer’s eyes were fixed with an intense gaze. “You and I are rational beings, Averil, not likely to be led away by superstitious folly; we live in an enlightened age, little tolerant of such things. And yet, here we stand, gazing with dispassionate eyes on that Shadow, in full possession of our sober judgment. It is there; we see it: and that is all we can tell about it. The Shadow of Ashlydyat is ridiculed from one end of the county to the other: spoken of—when spoken of at all—as an absurd superstition of the Godolphins. But there the Shadow is: and not all the ridicule extant can do away with the plain fact. I see it: but I cannot explain it.”