He could no longer conceal from himself the hor-
rible fact of his cowardice; he was thoroughly
frightened! He would have run from the spot, but
his legs refused their office; they gave way beneath
him and he sat again upon the log, violently trem-
bling. His face was wet, his whole body bathed in
a chill perspiration. He could not even cry out.
Distinctly he heard behind him a stealthy tread, as
of some wild animal, and dared not look over his
shoulder. Had the soulless living joined forces with
the soulless dead?--was it an animal? Ah, if he
could but be assured of that! But by no effort of
will could he now unfix his gaze from the face of the
dead man.
I repeat that Lieutenant Byring was a brave and
intelligent man. But what would you have? Shall a
man cope, single-handed, with so monstrous an
alliance as that of night and solitude and silence and
the dead--while an incalculable host of his own an-
cestors shriek into the ear of his spirit their coward
counsel, sing their doleful death-songs in his heart,
and disarm his very blood of all its iron? The odds
are too great--courage was not made for so rough
use as that.
One sole conviction now had the man in posses-
sion: that the body had moved. It lay nearer to the
edge of its plot of light--there could be no doubt of
it. It had also moved its arms, for, look, they are
both in the shadow! A breath of cold air struck By-
ring full in the face; the boughs of trees above him
stirred and moaned.
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