“Where?”
“Down there, below us.”
She pointed. My eyes followed her hand, and I saw it too.
A living figure was moving over the waste of heath in the distance. It crossed our range of view from the boat-house, and passed darkly along the outer edge of the mist. It stopped far off, in front of us—waited—and passed on; moving slowly, with the white cloud of mist behind it and above it—slowly, slowly, till it glided by the edge of the boat-house, and we saw it no more.
We were both unnerved by what had passed between us that evening. Some minutes elapsed before Laura would venture into the plantation, and before I could make up my mind to lead her back to the house.
“Was it a man or a woman?” she asked in a whisper, as we moved at last into the dark dampness of the outer air.
“I am not certain.”
“Which do you think?”
“It looked like a woman.”
“I was afraid it was a man in a long cloak.”