The nameless horror that oppressed me passed in a moment, for in a moment I saw that this appearance of a man was a man indeed, and that there was a little group of other men standing at a short distance to whom he seemed to be rehearsing the gesture he made. The danger-light was not yet lighted. Against its shaft a little low hut, entirely new to me, had been made of some wooden supports and tarpaulin. It looked no bigger than a bed. With an irresistible sense that something was wrong--with a flashing self-reproachful fear that fatal mischief had come of my leaving the man here and causing no one to be sent to overlook or correct what he did--I descended the notched path with all the speed I could make. "What is the matter?" I asked the men. "Signal-man killed this morning, sir." "Not the man belonging to that box?" "Yes, sir." "Not the man I know?" "You will recognize him, sir, if you knew him," said the man who spoke for the others, solemnly uncovering his own head and raising an end of the tarpaulin, "for his face is quite composed." "O, how did this happen, how did this happen?" I asked, turning from one to another as the hut closed in again. "He was cut down by an engine, sir. No man in England knew his work better, but somehow he was not clear of the outer rail. It was just at broad day. He had struck the light and had the lamp in his hand. As the engine came out of the tunnel his back was towards her and she cut him down. That man drove her and was showing how it happened. Show the gentleman, Tom." The man, who wore a rough dark dress, stepped back to his former place at the mouth of the tunnel: "Coming round the curve in the tunnel, sir," he said, "I saw him at the end, like as if I saw him down a perspective glass. There was no time to check speed, and I knew him to be very careful. As he didn't seem to take heed of the whistle, I shut it off when we were running down upon him and called to him as loud as I could call." "What did you say?" "I said, 'Below there! Look out! Look out! For God's sake, clear the way!" I started. "Ah! it was a dreadful time, sir. I never left off calling to him. I put this arm before my eyes not to see, and I waved this arm to the last; but it was no use." Without prolonging the narrative to dwell on any one of its curious circumstances more than any other, I may, in closing it, point out the coincidence that the warning of the engine driver included not only the words which the unfortunate signal-man had repeated to me as haunting him, but also the words which I myself--not he--had attached, and that only in my own mind, to the gesticulation he had imitated. --Charles Dickens. ="Like a Thief in the Night"= "How many more days of this miserable tramping have we before us, Ivan?" It was a rough voice that spoke--a voice hardened with bitterness and hatred.