. . .
It stunned us all. For a minute I suppose no one said a coherent
thing. We believed it, yet could not believe it. . . . I came out
of a muddled stupefaction to find myself kneeling beside him,
and his vest and shirt were torn open, and Sanderson's hand lay
on his heart. . . .
Well--the simple fact before us could very well wait our convenience;
there was no hurry for us to comprehend. It lay there for an hour;
it lies athwart my memory, black and amazing still, to this day.
Clayton had, indeed, passed into the world that lies so near to
and so far from our own, and he had gone thither by the only road
that mortal man may take. But whether he did indeed pass there
by that poor ghost's incantation, or whether he was stricken suddenly
by apoplexy in the midst of an idle tale--as the coroner's jury would
have us believe--is no matter for my judging; it is just one of those
inexplicable riddles that must remain unsolved until the final solution
of all things shall come. All I certainly know is that, in the very
moment, in the very instant, of concluding those passes, he changed,
and staggered, and fell down before us--dead!
7.
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