Then it glided on by his
side, looking earnestly into his countenance, and moving its pallid
lips with agonized rapidity, as if it said, "Look at me--speak to
me--speak to me--see me!" But he kept his course with unconscious eyes,
and a vexed frown on his forehead betokening an irritated mind. The
light that had shone in the figure of the phantom darkened slowly, till
the form was only a pale shadow. The wind had suddenly lulled, and no
longer lifted its white hair. It still glided on with him, its head
drooping on its breast, and its long arms hanging by its side; but when
he reached the door, it suddenly sprang before him, gazing fixedly into
his eyes, while a convulsive motion flashed over its grief-worn
features, as if it had shrieked out a word. He had his foot on the step
at the moment. With a start, he put his gloved hand to his forehead,
while the vexed look went out quickly on his face. The ghost watched
him breathlessly. But the irritated expression came back to his
countenance more resolutely than before, and he began to fumble in his
pocket for a latch-key, muttering petulantly, "What the devil is the
matter with me now?" It seemed to him that a voice had cried clearly,
yet as from afar, "Charles Renton!"--his own name.
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