He recalled
her manner very indistinctly; for a feeling like a mist began to gather
in his mind, and make the occurrences of moments before uncertain.
Alone, now, he was yet oppressed with a sensation that something was
near him. Was it a spiritual instinct? for the phantom stood by his
side. It stood silent, with one hand raised above his head, from which
a pale flame seemed to flow downward to his brain; its other hand
pointed movelessly to the open letter on the table beside him.
He took the sheets from the table, thinking, at the moment, only of
George Feval; but the first line on which his eye rested was, "In the
name of the Saviour, I charge you, be true and tender to mankind!" And
the words touched him like a low voice from the grave. Their penetrant
reproach pierced the hardness of his heart. He tossed the letter back
on the table. The very manner of the act accused him of an insult to
the dead. In a moment he took up the faded sheets more reverently, but
only to lay them down again.
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