Woodward was alone; but it would be difficult to find language in which to describe the bitterness of his feelings and the frightful sense of his disappointment on finding, not only that his infamous design upon the life of Alice Goodwin had been frustrated, but on feeling certain that she had been restored to perfect health before his eyes.

This, however, was not the worst of it.

He had calculated on killing her, and consequently of securing the twelve hundred a year, on the strength of which he and his mother could confidently negotiate with the old nobleman, who always slept with one eye open.

In the venom and dark malignity of his heart he cursed Alice Goodwin, he cursed Valentine Greatrakes, he cursed the world, and he cursed God, or rather would have cursed him had he believed in the existence of such a being.
In this mood of mind he was proceeding to his lodgings, when he espied before him the _Shan-dhinne-dhuv_, or Black Spectre with the middogue in his hand.

He stood and looked at it steadily.
"What is this ?" said he, addressing the figure before him.