A strange flicker of light rose and fell. What could it possibly mean? It came from the hillside above the shop. He must get up and see what it meant. Horror! a bright blaze was rising and falling in the scherm of the man he had slain. Yet, he tried to reason to himself, what nonsense to think that there was anything ghostly about the circumstance. No doubt some wandering—
His hair stood upon end and he shrieked aloud. From the scherm arose the notes of the air he knew so well. Struck from the strings, the pizzicato tones of the deadly tune seemed to run through his body until every nerve vibrated with the hateful sound. He rushed across the intervening space and beat with his fists against the iron door of Nathan’s bedroom, until the whole building thundered.
Nathan sprang out of bed in deadly fear.
“Who is that, and what is the matter?” he called.
“Open, quick! It is I, Koos. Open, open!”
Nathan drew back the bolt and Koos sprang into the room, panting.
“I have seen his ghost—it is there in the scherm.”
“Rot, Koos. Go to bed.”
“It is there; go and see for yourself.”
Nathan had no fear whatever of the supernatural. He slipped on a pair of shoes and came outside, followed by the trembling Boer. All was in darkness; not the faintest glimmer of light could be seen in the neighbourhood of the scherm, not a sound broke the stillness of the night.