The figure turns half round, and the light falls upon the face.  It is perfectly white—­perfectly bloodless.  The eyes look like polished tin; the lips are drawn back, and the principal feature next to those dreadful eyes is the teeth—­the fearful looking teeth—­projecting like those of some wild animal, hideously, glaringly white, and fang-like.  It approaches the bed with a strange, gliding movement.  It clashes together the long nails that literally appear to hang from the finger ends.  No sound comes from its lips.  Is she going mad—­that young and beautiful girl exposed to so much terror? she has drawn up all her limbs; she cannot even now say help.  The power of articulation is gone, but the power of movement has returned to her; she can draw herself slowly along to the other side of the bed from that towards which the hideous appearance is coming.

But her eyes are fascinated.  The glance of a serpent could not have produced a greater effect upon her than did the fixed gaze of those awful, metallic-looking eyes that were bent on her face.  Crouching down so that the gigantic height was lost, and the horrible, protruding, white face was the most prominent object, came on the figure.  What was it?—­what did it want there?—­what made it look so hideous—­so unlike an inhabitant of the earth, and yet to be on it?

Now she has got to the verge of the bed, and the figure pauses.  It seemed as if when it paused she lost the power to proceed.  The clothing of the bed was now clutched in her hands with unconscious power.  She drew her breath short and thick.  Her bosom heaves, and her limbs tremble, yet she cannot withdraw her eyes from that marble-looking face.  He holds her with his glittering eye.

The storm has ceased—­all is still.  The winds are hushed; the church clock proclaims the hour of one:  a hissing sound comes from the throat of the hideous being, and he raises his long, gaunt arms—­the lips move.  He advances.  The girl places one small foot from the bed on to the floor.  She is unconsciously dragging the clothing with her.  The door of the room is in that direction—­can she reach it?  Has she power to walk?—­can she withdraw her eyes from the face of the intruder, and so break the hideous charm?  God of Heaven! is it real, or some dream so like reality as to nearly overturn the judgment for ever?

The figure has paused again, and half on the bed and half out of it that young girl lies trembling.  Her long hair streams across the entire width of the bed.  As she has slowly moved along she has left it streaming across the pillows.  The pause lasted about a minute—­oh, what an age of agony.  That minute was, indeed, enough for madness to do its full work in.