With the morning, a little of the night's impression had vanished, for the sun was shining brilliantly. Ghosts and sunlight don't accord with each other; you cannot make them amalgamate. Ghosts at midnight are ghosts: in the warm and cheery morning sun they are of doubtful identity; or, at any rate, have vanished very far-off, into unknown regions. I dressed myself as usual, in better spirits than might be supposed, and went down. Mr. Chandos was earlier than I, and stood at the window in the oak-parlour. He took my hand and retained it for some moments in silence, I standing side by side with him, and looking from the window as he did. "And how is the ghost this morning, Anne?" "I wish you would regard me as a rational being, Mr. Chandos! Do anything but treat me as a child." "Nay, I think you proved yourself both irrational and a child last night," he laughingly said. "Indeed I did not. I wish you had seen what I did." "I wish I had," was the mocking answer. "Anne, trust me: there is no ghost inside Chandos, whatever they may say as to there being one out of it." "I don't know how I shall be able to go upstairs alone at night again." "Nor I. You will want Hill and half a dozen lighted torches to escort you. Do you remember my remarking, that last evening, taking one event with another, was a sensational one? But I did not suppose it was to wind up with anything so grand as a ghost." The mocking tone, the ridicule vexed me. It was as if he ridiculed me. In spite of my good sense and my good manners, the vexation appeared in my eyes. "There! We will declare a truce, Anne, and let the ghost drop. I don't want to make you angry with me." "I am not angry, sir. I can never repay all your kindness to me; and especially that last one of coming to my relief last night." "Which was accidental. Shall I tell you how you can repay it all, Anne?" His voice dropped to earnest seriousness; his eyes, a strangely-sad gravity seated in their depths, looked yearningly into mine. "I wish you could, sir." "Let this matter of your ghost be a perfect secret between you and me. One to be disclosed to no one." "Certainly. I promise." That some great reason prompted the request was unmistakeable: that there were certain interests attaching to this "ghost," whether it might walk out of doors or in, could but be apparent. A mysterious awe—pardon the words—pervaded the subject altogether; and had from the moment I first entered Chandos. How I wished he would take me into his confidence!—if it were only that I might show him that I would be true and faithful. But for the strange reticence imposed by love when once it takes possession of the soul, I might have boldly suggested this. He leaned out of the window, inhaling the crisp air of the bright October morning. Courage at length came to me to say a word.