The phantom held up three fingers.
"Only three," Hellayne babbled like a child, talking to herself. "Well—pass upon your way, phantom.—You have given me all you had to give—three dusks to rise to Heaven."
She raised her eyes in prayer and a strange rapture came into her face. But it vanished suddenly—and once more she stared, shuddering, into the gloom.
For craze and hell still prevailed.
Look, there it came!
What new and monstrous phantom was swaying and groping towards her? A headless monk!—The air grew black with horror. Horror shrivelled her skin, was raising the roots of her hair.
It was for her he was groping. Her wits were beginning to leave her. She had to move this way and that to avoid him. She felt, if he only touched her, madness would win the day. And he groped and groped, and she seemed to feel him near to her.
"Away! Away!" she shrieked. But she was wasting her breath. He had neither eyes to see nor ears to hear.
And he groped and groped, as if he felt her already under his vague, white hands.
"Help—God!" she shrieked.