Charlie got out of the canoe; hastily. "What?" he asked again, walking up to Miss Bushell. "I declare I saw something white at the window. Oh, Charlie! But it's all----" "Bosh? Of course it is. There's nothing in the temple." "Well, I thought--I wonder you like to be there." "Why shouldn't I?" The mysterious appearance not being repeated, Millie's courage returned. "I thought you believed in the ghost," she said, smiling. "So I do, but I don't mind it." "You've never seen it?" "Supposing I haven't? That doesn't prove it's not true." "But you're often here at the time?" "Never," answered Charlie with emphasis. "I always go away before the time." "Then you'd better come now. Put the canoe to bed and walk with me." Charlie Merceron thrust his hands into his pockets and smiled at his companion. He was tall also, and just able to look down on her. "No," he said, "I'm not going yet." "How rude--oh, there it is again, Charlie! I saw it! I'm--I'm frightened," and her healthy color paled a trifle, as she laid a hand on Charlie's arm. "I tell you what," observed Charlie. "If you have fancies of this kind you'd better not come here any more--not in the evening, at all events. You know people who think they're going to see things always do see 'em." "My heart is positively beating," said Miss Bushell. "I--I don't quite like walking back alone." "I'll see you as far as the road," Charlie conceded, and with remarkable promptitude he led the way, turning his head over his shoulder to remark: "Really, if you're so nervous, you oughtn't to come here." "I never will again--not alone, I mean." Charlie had breasted the hill with such goodwill that they were already at the road. "And you're really going back?" she asked. "Oh, just for a few minutes. I left my book in the temple--I was reading there. She's not due for half an hour yet, you know." "What--what happens if you see her?" "Oh, you die," answered Charlie. "Goodnight;" and with a smile and a nod he ran down the hill towards the Pool. Miss Bushell, cavalierly deserted, made her way home at something more than her usual rate of speed. She had never believed in that nonsense, but there was certainly something white at that window--something white that moved. Under the circumstances, Charlie really might have seen her home, she thought, for the wood-fringed road was gloomy, and dusk coming on apace. Besides, where was the hardship in being her escort? Doubtless none, Charlie would have answered, unless a man happened to have other fish to fry. The pace at which the canoe crossed the Pool and brought up at its old moorings witnessed that he had no leisure to spend on Miss Bushell. Leaping out, he ran up the stops into the temple, crying in a loud whisper: "She's gone!" The temple was empty, and Charlie, looking round in vexation, added: "So has she, by Jingo!" He sat down disconsolately on the low marble seat that ran round the little shrine.