erect; my flesh crept with horror. I could not see the grave and
tender Lucy--my eyes were fascinated by the creature beyond. I know
not why, but I put out my hand to clutch it; I grasped nothing but
empty air, and my whole blood curdled to ice. For a moment I could
not see; then my sight came back, and I saw Lucy standing before me,
alone, deathly pale, and, I could have fancied, almost, shrunk in
size.

"IT has been near me?" she said, as if asking a question.

The sound seemed taken out of her voice; it was husky as the notes on
an old harpsichord when the strings have ceased to vibrate. She read
her answer in my face, I suppose, for I could not speak. Her look
was one of intense fear, but that died away into an aspect of most
humble patience. At length she seemed to force herself to face
behind and around her: she saw the purple moors, the blue distant
hills, quivering in the sunlight, but nothing else.

"Will you take me home?" she said, meekly.

I took her by the hand, and led her silently through the budding
heather--we dared not speak; for we could not tell but that the dread
creature was listening, although unseen,--but that IT might appear
and push us asunder. I never loved her more fondly than now when--
and that was the unspeakable misery--the idea of her was becoming so
inextricably blended with the shuddering thought of IT. She seemed
to understand what I must be feeling. She let go my hand, which she
had kept clasped until then, when we reached the garden gate, and
went forwards to meet her anxious friend, who was standing by the
window looking for her. I could not enter the house: I needed