Receiving no answer, I advanced cautiously (for it was, as I have
said, black dark), and so, presently, touched something yielding
with my foot.
"Come--get up!" said I, stooping to lay a hand upon him, "get up,
I say." But he never moved; he was lying upon his face, and, as
I raised his head, my fingers encountered a smooth, round stone,
buried in the grass, and the touch of that stone thrilled me from
head to foot with sudden dread. Hastily I tore open waistcoat
and shirt, and pressed nay hand above his heart. In that one
moment I lived an age of harrowing suspense, then breathed a sigh
of relief, and, rising, took him beneath the arms and began to
half drag, half carry him towards the cottage.
I had proceeded thus but some dozen yards or so when, during a
momentary lull in the storm, I thought I heard a faint "Hallo,"
and looking about, saw a twinkling light that hovered to and fro,
coming and going, yet growing brighter each moment. Setting down
my burden, therefore, I hollowed my hands about my mouth, and
shouted.
"This way!" I called; "this way!"
"Be that you, sir?" cried a man's voice at no great distance.
"This way!" I called again, "this way!" The words seemed to
reassure the fellow, for the light advanced once more, and as he
came up, I made him out to be a postilion by his dress, and the
light he carried was the lanthorn of a chaise.
"Why--sir!" he began, looking me up and down, by the light of his
lanthorn, "strike me lucky if I'd ha' knowed ye! you looks as if
--oh, Lord!"
"What is it?" said I, wiping the rain from my eyes again. The
Postilion's answer was to lower his lanthorn towards the face of
him who lay on the ground between us, and point. Now, looking
where he pointed, I started suddenly backwards, and shivered,
with a strange stirring of the flesh.
For I saw a pale face with a streak of blood upon the cheek
--there was blood upon my own; a face framed in lank hair, thick
and black--as was my own; a pale, aquiline face, with a prominent
nose, and long, cleft chin--even as my own. So, as I stood
looking down upon this face, my breath caught, and my flesh
crept, for indeed, I might have been looking into a mirror--the
face was the face of myself.