“And the phantom white, whose clay-cold face
Was once so fair,
Dries with his shroud his clinging vest
And his sea-tossed hair.”
Once more the solemn question:
“You, who would see revealed the mysteries of the tomb—what do you see now?”
The student answered in a calm voice, but like that of a man describing things as they pass before him:
“I see the cloud taking the form of a phantom; its head is covered with a long veil—it stands still!”
“Are you afraid?”
“I am not!”