Page:Joan, the curate.djvu/284

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278
Joan, The Curate.

that sick horror which had taken possession of him once before that evening. As he turned his head away, the boatswain came up, and looked curiously down at the prostrate body.

"Why, sir, he's dead!" cried he.

Tregenna nodded.

"Leave—him lying there—till morning!" stammered he.

And as he spoke, he replaced his cloak, as he had promised Ann that he would do, upon her quiet limbs.

It was a moment of intense horror for him: although the passion the woman had felt, or professed to feel for him had left him almost cold, it was impossible not to be moved by the sight of that form, which he had seen so full of life and fire and energy, cold and still at his feet.

He could not shake off the chilly feeling of having held converse with a creature of weird and supernatural attributes. Even when he retired to rest, leaving a sailor to watch by the corpse till morning, the thought of the woman and her strange end haunted him, would not let him rest.