"And I mayn't come in and show myself. I haven't the time. You
were so long opening the door, Frank, and I am so cold--oh, so bitterly
cold! Look there, the moon is coming out, and you will be able to see
me. I suppose that you long to see me, as I have longed to see you."
As the figure spoke, or rather wailed, a moonbeam struggled through the
watery air and fell on it. It was short and shrunken, the figure of a
tiny woman. Also it was dressed in black and wore a black covering over
the whole head, shrouding it, after the fashion of a bridal veil. From
every part of this veil and dress the water fell in heavy drops.
The figure bore a small basket on her left arm, and her hand--such a
poor thin little hand--gleamed white in the moonlight. I noticed that
on the third finger was a red line, showing that a wedding-ring had
once been there. The other hand was stretched towards me as though in
entreaty.
All this I saw in an instant, as it were, and as I saw it, horror seemed
to grip me by the throat as though it were a living thing, for as the
voice had been familiar, so was the form familiar, though the churchyard
had received it long years ago. I could not speak--I could not even
move.
"Oh, don't you know me yet?" wailed the voice; "and I have come from so
far to see you, and I cannot stop.
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