“No, no”—said William shuddering: I know thee not! I wish not to know thee. Be thou who thou mayest, leave me!”
The black horseman turned away his horse, and said with a gloomy solemnity—“Thou do’st know me: the very hair of thy head, which stands on end, confesses for thee that thou do’st. I am he—whom at this moment thou namest in thy heart with horror”. So saying he vanished—followed by the dreary sound of withered leaves, and the echo of blasted boughs falling from the trees beneath which he had stood.
XVI.
“Merciful God! what has happened to you, William?” exclaimed Kate and her mother, as William returned pale and agitated after midnight: “you look as if fresh risen from the grave.”
“Nothing, nothing,” said William,—“no thing but night air; the truth is I am a little feverish.”
