Sybil replied with a deep yawn.
And in a few minutes they laid down to rest, and in a very few more they
fell asleep.
How long they had slept Sybil had no means of knowing, when she was
awakened by an impression that some cold damp creature had laid down on
the front of the mattress close beside her. She opened her eyes and
strained them around in a vague dread, but the inside of the chapel was
dark as pitch. The fire had gone entirely out; she could not even see
the outlines of the Gothic windows; all was black as Tartarus. But
still--oh, horror!--she felt the cold damp form pressing close beside
her.
A speechless, breathless awe possessed her. She could not scream, but
she cautiously put out her hand to make sure whether she was dreaming,
when--horror upon horror!--it touched a clammy face!
Still she did not cry out, for some potent spell seemed to bind her
which at once tied her tongue and moved her hand; for that hand passed
down over the slender form and straight limbs, and then up again, until
it reached the still bosom, when--climax of horror!--it was caught and
clasped in the clay-cold hand of the--WHAT?