Then came a more decided wail and sob much nearer to us. Griff hastily swallowed the ale in his tumbler, and, striking a theatrical attitude, exclaimed, ‘Angels and ministers of grace defend us!’ Clarence held up his hand in deprecation. The door into his bedroom was open, and Griff, taking up one of the flat candlesticks, pursued his researches, holding the flame to all chinks or cracks in the wainscotting to detect draughts which might cause the dreary sounds, which were much more like suppressed weeping than any senseless gust of wind. Of draughts there were many, and he tried holding his hand against each crevice to endeavour to silence the wails; but these became more human and more distressful. Presently Clarence exclaimed, ‘There!’ and on his face there was a whiteness and an expression which always recurs to me on reading those words of Eliphaz the Temanite, ‘Then a spirit passed before my face, and the hair of my flesh stood up.’ Even Griff was awestruck as we cried, ‘Where? what?’ ‘Don’t you see her? There! By the press—look!’ ‘I see a patch of moonlight on the wall,’ said Griff. ‘Moonlight—her lamp. Edward, don’t you see her?’ I could see nothing but a spot of light on the wall. Griff (plainly putting a force on himself) came back and gave him a good-natured shake. ‘Dreaming again, old Bill. Wake up and come to your senses.’ ‘I am as much in my senses as you are,’ said Clarence. ‘I see her as plainly as I see you.’ Nor could any one doubt either the reality of the awe in his voice and countenance, nor of the light—a kind of hazy ball—nor of the choking sobs. ‘What is she like?’ I asked, holding his hand, for, though infected by his dread, my fears were chiefly for the effect on him; but he was much calmer and less horror-struck than on the previous night, though still he shuddered as he answered in a low voice, as if loth to describe a lady in her presence, ‘A dark cloak with the hood fallen back, a kind of lace headdress loosely fastened, brown hair, thin white face, eyes—oh, poor thing!—staring with fright, dark—oh, how swollen the lids! all red below with crying—black dress with white about it—a widow kind of look—a glove on the arm with the lamp. Is she beckoning—looking at us? Oh, you poor thing, if I could tell what you mean!’ I felt the motion of his muscles in act to rise, and grasped him. Griff held him with a strong hand, hoarsely crying, ‘Don’t!—don’t—don’t follow the thing, whatever you do!’ Clarence hid his face. It was very awful and strange. Once the thought of conjuring her to speak by the Holy Name crossed me, but then I saw no figure; and with incredulous Griffith standing by, it would have been like playing, nor perhaps could I have spoken. How long this lasted there is no knowing; but presently the light moved towards the walled-up door and seemed to pass into it. Clarence raised his head and said she was gone. We breathed freely.