He had hardly made the startled lad understand that life, not death,
had thus overcome him, when the door flew open, and in rushed
Rosamond, crying, "Julius, Julius, come! It is he or his ghost!"
"Who? What?"
"It is your hair! At Mrs. Douglas's grave! He'll be gone! Make
haste--make haste!"
He started up, letting her drag him along, but under protest. "My
dear, men _do_ come to have hair like mine."
"I tell you it was at our graves--our own--I touched him. I had
this wreath for Raymond, and there he was, with his hat off, at the
railing close to Mrs. Douglas's. I thought his back was yours, and
called your name, and he started, and I saw--he had a white beard,
but he was not old. He just bowed, and then went off very fast by
the other gate, towards Wil'sbro'. I did call, 'Wait, wait,' but he
didn't seem to hear. Oh, go, go, Julius! Make haste!"
Infected by the wild hope, Julius hurried on the road where his wife
had turned his face, almost deriding himself for obeying her, when
he would probably only overtake some old family retainer; but as,
under the arch of trees that overhung the road, he saw a figure in
the moonlight, a thrill of recognition came over him as he marked
the vigorous tread of the prime of life, and the white hair visible
in the moonlight, together with something utterly indescribable, but
which made him call out, "Archie! Archie Douglas! wait for me!"
The figure turned.
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