My first examination of the horizon was for the figures of the count
and his strange companion. I soon distinguished their tall dark forms
standing out sharply against the star-spangled purple heavens. I nearly
overtook them at the bottom of the ravine.

The count was moving with deliberate steps, the imaginary winding-sheet
dragging slowly after him. There was an automatic precision in the
movements of both.

I kept six or eight yards behind them down the hollow road to the
Altenberg, now in the shade, now in the full light, for the moon was
shining with astonishing brilliancy. A few clouds floated idly across the
zenith, seeming to want to clasp her in their long arms, but she ever
eluded their grasp, and her rays, keen as a blade of steel, cut me to the
marrow of my bones.

I could have wished to turn back, but some invisible power impelled me
onwards to follow this funeral procession in pantomime. Even to this day
I fancy still I can see the rough mountain path through the Black Forest,
I can hear the crisp snow crackling under foot, and the dead leaves
rustling in the light north wind; I can see myself following those two
silent beings, but I cannot understand what mysterious power drew me in
their footsteps.

At last we reach the forest, and advance amongst the tall bare-branched,
beeches; the dark shadows of their higher boughs intersect the lower
branches, and fall broken upon the snow-encumbered road. Sometimes I
fancy I can hear steps behind me; I turn sharply round, but can see no
one.