Or, the uncle of my brother's wife was riding home on horseback, one mellow evening at sunset, when, in a green lane close to is own house, he saw a man standing before him, in the very centre of a narrow way. "Why does that man in the cloak stand here!" he thought. "Does he want me to ride over him?" But the figure never moved. He felt a strange sensation at seeing it so till, but slackened his trot and rode forward. When he was so close to it, as almost to touch it with his stirrup, his horse shied, nd the figure glided up the bank, in a curious, unearthly manner--backward, and without seeming to use its feet--and was gone. he uncle of my brother's wife, exclaiming, "Good Heaven! It's my cousin Harry, from Bombay!" put spurs to his horse, which as uddenly in a profuse sweat, and, wondering at such strange behaviour, dashed round to the front of his house. There, he saw the same figure, just passing in at the long French window of the drawing-room, opening on the ground. He threw his bridle to a ervant, and hastened in after it. His sister was sitting there, alone. "Alice, where's my cousin Harry?" "Your cousin Harry, ohn?""Yes. From Bombay. I met him in the lane just now, and saw him enter here, this instant." Not a creature had been seen y any one; and in that hour and minute, as it afterwards appeared, this cousin died in India.
From "A Christmas Tree" by Charles Dickens