But they looked through him, they looked beyond him, and saw him not.
A violent tremor went through him, a nameless, unspeakable dread.

The curses died upon his lips.

He stared and stared again.
And while he stared, the vision faded before his eyes into nothingness.
He was alone once more in the darkness and the drenching rain; alone with a little gibing voice that seemed to come from within and yet was surely the voice of a devil jeering a devil's tattoo in time to his horse's hoof-beats, telling him he was mad, mad, mad! Three minutes later he rode heavily into his own stable-yard.
A group of servants scattered dumbly before him as he appeared.

The glare of lights dazzled him, but he fancied they looked at him strangely.

He flung an oath at the groom who stepped forward to take his horse.
"What are you staring at?
What's the matter ?" The man murmured something unintelligible.
Sir Giles dismounted and scowled around.