He sat still, dying the death over and over again; and the only part of him which moved were his eyes, turning round and round in their sockets, running over the walls, the floor, the ceiling, again and again till suddenly they became motionless and stony--starting out of his head fixed in the direction of the bed.
He had seen the heavy curtains stir and shake as if the dead body they concealed had turned over and sat up.

Byrne, who thought the world could hold no more terrors in store, felt his hair stir at the roots.

He gripped the arms of the chair, his jaw fell, and the sweat broke out on his brow while his dry tongue clove suddenly to the roof of his mouth.
Again the curtains stirred, but did not open.

"Don't, Tom!" Byrne made effort to shout, but all he heard was a slight moan such as an uneasy sleeper may make.

He felt that his brain was going, for, now, it seemed to him that the ceiling over the bed had moved, had slanted, and came level again--and once more the closed curtains swayed gently as if about to part.
Byrne closed his eyes not to see the awful apparition of the seaman's corpse coming out animated by an evil spirit.