He was fearful of he knew not what.

Yet he could not withdraw his eyes from that spot.

Had someone--some _thing_ from that little graveyard come to his window and gone back again to its musty rest?
Was it--_could_ it be--?
Hardly had he the chance to think and conjure up some harrowing fear, when the dusky column appeared again, then disappeared, then appeared again.

Then darkness.
Whatever put it into Peter Piper's head he never know, but quick like those very flashes occurred to him the very words that he had been saying over and over to himself but a few minutes before--saying over and committing to memory.

"Three dots or flashes--S, three dots or flashes--three dots or flashes--" Again it arose, that ghostly apparition, and filled the dark sky above the little graveyard.