“Good-night， then， and here’s my hand.” “Good-night， sir，and here’s mine.” With that we walked side by side to his box，entered it， closed the door， and sat down by the fire.
“I have made up my mind， sir，” he began， bending forwardas soon as we were seated， and speaking in a tone but a littleabove a whisper， “that you shall not have to ask me twice whattroubles me. I took you for some one else yesterday evening.
That troubles me.”
“That mistake？”
“No. That some one else.”
“Who is it？”
“I don’t know.”
“Like me？”
“I don’t know. I never saw the face. The left arm is acrossthe face， and the right arm is waved，—violently waved. Thisway.”
I followed his action with my eyes， and it was the action ofan arm gesticulating， with the utmost passion and vehemence，“For God’s sake， clear the way！”
“One moonlight night，” said the man， “I was sitting here，when I heard a voice cry， ‘Halloa！ Below there！’ I started up，looked from that door， and saw this Some one else standing bythe red light near the tunnel， waving as I just now showed you.
The voice seemed hoarse with shouting， and it cried， ‘Lookout！ Look out！’ And then again， ‘Halloa！ Below there！ Lookout！’ I caught up my lamp， turned it on red， and ran towards thefigure， calling， ‘What’s wrong？ What has happened？ Where？’
It stood just outside the blackness of the tunnel. I advanced soclose upon it that I wondered at its keeping the sleeve acrossits eyes. I ran right up at it， and had my hand stretched out topull the sleeve away， when it was gone.”
“Into the tunnel？” said I.
“No. I ran on into the tunnel， five hundred yards. I stopped，and held my lamp above my head， and saw the figures of themeasured distance， and saw the wet stains stealing down thewalls and trickling through the arch. I ran out again fasterthan I had run in （for I had a mortal abhorrence of the placeupon me）， and I looked all round the red light with my ownred light， and I went up the iron ladder to the gallery atop ofit， and I came down again， and ran back here. I telegraphedboth ways， ‘An alarm has been given. Is anything wrong？’ Theanswer came back， both ways， ‘All well.’ “Resisting the slow touch of a frozen finger tracing out myspine， I showed him how that this figure must be a deceptionof his sense of sight； and how that figures， originating indisease of the delicate nerves that minister to the functions ofthe eye， were known to have often troubled patients， some ofwhom had become conscious of the nature of their affliction，and had even proved it by experiments upon themselves. “Asto an imaginary cry，” said I， “do but listen for a moment to thewind in this unnatural valley while we speak so low， and to thewild harp it makes of the telegraph wires.”
That was all very well， he returned， after we had sat listeningfor a while， and he ought to know something of the wind andthe wires，—he who so often passed long winter nights there，alone and watching. But he would beg to remark that he hadnot finished.
I asked his pardon， and he slowly added these words，touching my arm，—
“Within six hours after the Appearance， the memorableaccident on this Line happened， and within ten hours the deadand wounded were brought along through the tunnel over thespot where the figure had stood.”
A disagreeable shudder crept over me， but I did my bestagainst it. It was not to be denied， I rejoined， that this wasa remarkable coincidence， calculated deeply to impress hismind. But it was unquestionable that remarkable coincidencesdid continually occur， and they must be taken into accountin dealing with such a subject. Though to be sure I mustadmit， I added （for I thought I saw that he was going to bringthe objection to bear upon me）， men of common sense didnot allow much for coincidences in making the ordinarycalculations of life.
He again begged to remark that he had not finished.
I again begged his pardon for being betrayed into interruptions.
“This，” he said， again laying his hand upon my arm， andglancing over his shoulder with hollow eyes， “was just a yearago. Six or seven months passed， and I had recovered from thesurprise and shock， when one morning， as the day was breaking，I， standing at the door， looked towards the red light， and saw thespectre again.” He stopped， with a fixed look at me.
“Did it cry out？”
“No. It was silent.”
“Did it wave its arm？”
“No. It leaned against the shaft of the light， with both handsbefore the face. Like this.”
Once more I followed his action with my eyes. It was anaction of mourning. I have seen such an attitude in stonefigures on tombs.
“Did you go up to it？”
“I came in and sat down， partly to collect my thoughts，partly because it had turned me faint. When I went to the dooragain， daylight was above me， and the ghost was gone.”
“But nothing followed？ Nothing came of this？”
He touched me on the arm with his forefinger twice or thricegiving a ghastly nod each time：—
“That very day， as a train came out of the tunnel， I noticed，at a carriage window on my side， what looked like a confusionof hands and heads， and something waved. I saw it just in timeto signal the driver， Stop！ He shut off， and put his brake on， butthe train drifted past here a hundred and fifty yards or more.
I ran after it， and， as I went along， heard terrible screams andcries. A beautiful young lady had died instantaneously in oneof the compartments， and was brought in here， and laid downon this floor between us.”
Involuntarily I pushed my chair back， as I looked from theboards at which he pointed to himself.
“True， sir. True. Precisely as it happened， so I tell it you.”
I could think of nothing to say， to any purpose， and mymouth was very dry. The wind and the wires took up the storywith a long lamenting wail.
He resumed. “Now， sir， mark this， and judge how my mindis troubled. The spectre came back a week ago. Ever since， ithas been there， now and again， by fits and starts.”
“At the light？”
“At the Danger-light.”
“What does it seem to do？”
He repeated， if possible with increased passion and vehemence，that former gesticulation of， “For God’s sake， clear the way！”