With his hand on the knob of the door, Doctor Langtry again paused irresolutely. "If it's not too much trouble," he asked, "I wish you would go up-stairs and make sure she is all right now." Wondering at his request and at his manner, Mrs. Ruttan complied, and presently returned to report that the child was sleeping peacefully. Doctor Langtry bowed with an air of obvious relief, bade her good night, and left the house. But next day, after he had transacted his business, and was about to start for Toronto, he said to Mr. Ruttan, who had accompanied him to the train: "Ruttan, if your little girl should happen to fall ill while away from home, go to her at once, and take Mrs. Ruttan with you, even if you have no reason to feel that the illness is serious." Mr. Ruttan laughed. "Of course we would go to her. You may be sure of that. But why--" "Ask me no questions," said Doctor Langtry, "but bear my request in mind if the occasion should arise." Within a very short time the child, visiting an aunt in a near-by town, was taken ill, failed rapidly, and died almost before her parents, who had been hastily telegraphed for, could reach her bedside. Doctor Langtry's warning immediately recurred to them, and they wrote him, beseeching an explanation. "The reason I was anxious about your little girl," he then told them, "was because the night I was sitting with Mrs. Ruttan I saw an angel enter the hall, pass up the stairs, and return, carrying the child in its arms." But the kind of ghost most frequently seen is that which appears not before but immediately after, or coincidental with, a death. Its purpose is not to give warning of impending tragedy, but to convey the news of a tragedy already consummated. There are thousands of instances of this sort, so well authenticated as to compel credence. Not long ago an interesting case was reported to me by a gentleman living in Burlington, Vermont, the nephew of the lady--a Mrs. Hazard of Newport, Rhode Island--who saw the ghost. She was ill at the time, and under the care of a trained nurse. One afternoon, her physician having allowed her to sit up for a couple of hours, she was seated in a chair by the side of her bed, when the nurse noticed her open wide her eyes and turn her head as if following the movements of some one. Then she heard her say, in a tone of surprise: "Hello! Hello! There he goes! There he goes!" As far as the nurse could see, nobody was in the room with them. But, not wishing to alarm her patient, she merely asked: "Who is it, Mrs. Hazard?" "Chet Keech. But he doesn't see me. And now he's gone." Later in the day the nurse mentioned the incident to Mrs. Hazard's daughter, asking her if she knew anybody by the name of Chet Keech. "Why, certainly I do," was the reply. "He is my cousin, and lives in Danielson, Connecticut." That day Chet Keech had died at Danielson, as a letter informed the Hazards next morning.