Trenholme knew that people on the railway line to the south believed firmly that the old man was still alive, or that his ghost walked.

Now, as his eyes focussed more intently upon the moving thing, it looked to him like a man.
Again he heard the sound of a voice, a man's voice certainly.

It was raised for the space of a minute in a sort of chant, not loud enough for him to hear any word or to know what language was spoken.
"Hi!" cried Trenholme at the top of his voice.

"Hi, there! What do you want ?" There was no doubt that a man out there could have heard, yet, whatever the creature was, it took not the slightest notice of the challenge.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light he saw that the figure was moving on the top of the deep snow near the outskirts of the wood--moving about in an aimless way, stopping occasionally, and starting again, raising the voice sometimes, and again going on in silence.

Trenholme could not descry any track left on the snow; all that he could see was a large figure dressed in garments which, in the starlight, did not seem to differ very much in hue from the snow, and he gained the impression that the head was thrown back and the face uplifted to the stars.
He called again, adjuring the man he saw to come at once and say why he was there and what he wanted.