His conscience morbidly reproaching him for the terrors he had bred in making his escape from the house, he seemed to see in the fixed gesture of the stranger something more than humanly significant.
But somewhat of his intrepidity returned; he resolved to test the apparition.

Composing itself to the same deliberate stateliness with which it had paced the hall, the phantom of Squire Woodcock firmly, advanced its cane, and marched straight forward towards the mysterious stranger.
As he neared him, Israel shrunk.

The dark coat-sleeve flapped on the bony skeleton of the unknown arm.

The face was lost in a sort of ghastly blank.

It was no living man.
But mechanically continuing his course, Israel drew still nearer and saw a scarecrow.
Not a little relieved by the discovery, our adventurer paused, more particularly to survey so deceptive an object, which seemed to have been constructed on the most efficient principles; probably by some broken down wax figure costumer.