The people I had supped with did not seem
like creatures of flesh and blood. The small, dark countenance of Don
Hilario, with its shifty glances and Mephistophelian smile; Demetria's
pale, sorrowful face; and the sunken, insane eyes of her old,
white-haired father--were all about me in the moonlight and amongst
the tangled greenery. I dared not move; I scarcely breathed; the very
weeds with their pale, dusky leaves were like things that had a ghostly
life. And while I was in this morbid condition of mind, with that
irrational fear momentarily increasing on me, I saw at a distance of
about thirty yards a dark object, which seemed to move, fluttering in
an uncertain way towards me. I gazed intently on it, but it was
motionless now, and appeared like a black, formless shadow within the
shade of the trees. Presently it came again towards me, and, passing
into the clear moonlight, revealed a human figure. It flitted across
the bright space and was lost in the shade of other trees; but it still
approached, a waving, fluttering figure, advancing and receding, but
always coming nearer. My blood turned cold in my veins; I could feel
my hair standing up on my head, until, unable to endure the terrible
suspense longer, I jumped up from my seat. A loud exclamation of terror
came from the figure, and then I saw that it was Demetria. I stammered
out an apology for frightening her by jumping up, and, finding that
I had recognised her, she advanced to me.
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