He stood, then, among the ruins of a burnt and shattered
building, the weeds and nettles proving conclusively that it had lain
thus for many years.
The moon had already set behind the encircling forest, but the stars
that spangled the heavens threw enough light to enable him to make quite
sure of what he saw. Harris, the silk merchant, stood among these broken
and burnt stones and shivered.
Then he suddenly became aware that out of the gloom a figure had risen
and stood beside him. Peering at him, he thought he recognised the face
of the stranger at the railway inn.
"Are _you_ real?" he asked in a voice he hardly recognised as his own.
"More than real--I'm friendly," replied the stranger; "I followed you up
here from the inn."
Harris stood and stared for several minutes without adding anything. His
teeth chattered. The least sound made him start; but the simple words in
his own language, and the tone in which they were uttered, comforted him
inconceivably.
"You're English too, thank God," he said inconsequently.
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