Not once, from that time to this, had Dan Duff taken this road alone at
night. From that cause probably, no sooner had he now turned into the
lane, than he began to think of Rachel. He would have preferred to think
of anything else in the world; but he found, as many others are obliged
to find, that unpleasant thoughts cannot be driven away at will. It was
not so much that the past night of misfortune was present to him, as
that he feared to meet the ghost of Rachel.
He went on, glancing furtively on all sides, his face and his hair
growing hotter and hotter. There, on his right, was the gate through
which he had entered the field to give chase to the supposed cat; there,
on the left, was the high hedge; before him lay the length of lane
traversed that evening by the tall man, who had remained undiscovered
from that hour to this. Dan could see nothing now; no tall man, no cat;
even the latter might have proved a welcome intruder. He glanced up at
the calm sky, at the bright moon riding overhead. The night was
perfectly still; a lovely night, could Dan only have kept the ghosts out
of his mind.
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