The figure, of course, made no reply, except by gesture.  It brandished the middogue, or dagger, however, and pointed it three times at his heart.  The spot upon which this strange interview occurred was perfectly clear of anything that could conceal an individual.  In fact it was an open common.  Woodward, consequently, led astray by circumstances with which the reader will become subsequently acquainted, started forward with the intention of reaching the individual whom he suspected of indulging himself in playing with his fears, or rather with jocularly intending to excite them.  He sprang forward, we say, and reached the spot on which the Black Spectre had stood, but our readers may judge of his surprise when he found that the spectre, or whatever it was, had disappeared, and was nowhere, or any longer, visible.  Place of concealment there was none.  He examined the ground about him.  It was firm and compact, and without a fissure in which a rat could, conceal itself.

There is no power in human nature which enables the heart of man, under similar circumstances, to bear the occurrence of such a scene as we have described, unmoved.  The man was hardened—­an infidel, an atheist; but, notwithstanding all this, a sense of awe, wonder, and even, in some degree, of terror, came over his heart, which nearly unnerved him.  Most atheists, however, are utter profligates, as he was; or silly philosophers, who, because they take their own reason for their guide, will come to no other conclusion than that to which it leads them.  “It is simply a hallucination,” said he to himself, “and merely the result of having heard the absurd nonsense of what that ignorant and credulous old friar related tonight concerning my family.  Still it is strange, because I am cool and sober, and in the perfect use of my senses.  This is the same appearance which I saw before near the Haunted House, and of which I never could get any account.  What if there should be—?”

He checked himself and proceeded to his lodgings, with an intention of returning home the next morning; which he did, after having failed in the murderous mission which he undertook to accomplish.

“Mother,” said he, after his return home, “all is lost:  Alice Goodwin has been restored to perfect health by Valentine Greatrakes, and my twelve hundred a year is gone for ever.  How can we enter into negotiations with that sharp old scoundrel, Lord Cockle-town, now?  I assure you I had her at the last gasp, when Greatrakes came in and restored her to perfect health before my face.  But, setting that aside for the present, is there such a being as what is termed the Black Spectre, mysteriously connected, if I may say so, with our family?”

His mother’s face got pale as death.

“Why do you ask, Harry?” said she.

“Because,” he replied, “I have reason to think that I have seen it twice.”

“Alas! alas!” she exclaimed, “then the doom of the curse is upon you.  It selects only one of every generation on which to work its vengeance.  The third appearance of it will be fatal to you.”