All light had gone from
the spectral form. It knelt beside him, mutely, as in prayer. Once it
gazed at his quiet face with a mournful tenderness, and its shadowy
hands caressed his forehead. Then it resumed its former attitude, and
the slow hours crept by.
At last it rose and glided to the table, on which lay the open letter.
It seemed to try to lift the sheets with its misty hands, but vainly.
Next it essayed the lifting of a pen which lay there, but failed. It
was a piteous sight, to see its idle efforts on these shapes of grosser
matter, which appeared now to have to it but the existence of illusions.
Wandering about the shadowy room, it wrung its phantom hands as in
despair.
Presently it grew still. Then it passed quickly to his side, and stood
before him. He slept calmly. It placed one ghostly hand above his
forehead, and with the other pointed to the open letter. In this
attitude its shape grew momentarily more distinct. It began to kindle
into brightness. The pale flame again flowed from its hand, streaming
downward to his brain.
Pages:
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59