his countenance was the countenance of the dead--of the sheeted dead,
stretched out in the bloodless pallor which lies upon the face of
vanished life--of existence that is no more, at least in flesh and
blood. Woodward approached him--for the thing had stood, as we have
said, and permitted, him to come within a few yards from him. His eyes
were cold and glassy, and apparently without speculation, like those
of a dead man open; yet, notwithstanding this, Woodward felt that they
looked at him, if not into him.

"Speak," said he, "speak; who or what are you?"

He received no reply; but in a few seconds the apparition, if it were
such, put his hand into his bosom, and, pulling out a dagger, which
gleamed with a faint and visionary light, he directed it as if to his
(Woodward's) heart. Three times he did this, in an attitude more of
warning than of anger, when, at length, he turned and approached the
haunted house, at the door of which he disappeared.

Woodward, as the reader must have perceived, was a strong-minded,
fearless man, and examined the awful features of this inscrutable being
closely.

"This, then," thought he, "is the _Shan-dhinne-dhuv_, or the Black
Spectre; but, be it what it may, I am strongly of opinion that it
was present at the bonfire last night, and as I am well armed, I will
unquestionably pursue it into the house. Nay, what is more, I
suspect that it is in some way or I other connected with the outlaw
_Shawn-na-Middogue_, who it was, they say, made that amazing leap over
the aforesaid bonfire in my own presence."