Then he passed his hands across his eyes, and his face took on a look of horror. "Tommy?" he asked. "Isn't it Tommy?" "Yes, sir," I said, "I'm Tommy." "Liar!" he cried. "Liar! I know you. Pah! There's the smell of blood in the air. You've come from the grave, from the grave down there in the woods. I know. Why can't you leave me in peace? Why must you follow me? They told me it was quiet in the grave. Why can't you lie still? Why can't you rest? What have I done to you? What have I ever done to you that you should follow me like this? Yes, always follow me? Away, I say; away!" He sprang towards me with his hands before his eyes, lurching blindly as though afraid to face me. I slipped to one side, and we changed places. He removed his hands, and looking before him thought for a moment I had gone, "Ha," he muttered, "I thought I saw him. I must be going mad." Then he turned. I thought he would have fallen dead at my feet. With mouth foaming and eyes staring he tottered dizzily forward and collapsed to the floor without a struggle. I would have stepped to him, but he lifted his face and looked furtively up at me from under his brows, and said in a broken-hearted voice, "I tell you I'm sorry. I can't say more. It had to be. Blood breeds blood. You should have taken the money and gone away. But you took the money and followed me. Always you followed. What could I do?" I knew he was mistaking me for my father. Perhaps I was really growing more like my father, or perhaps it was just his guilty imagination tricking him. But I said once more, "Sir, I'm Tommy." He lay crouched on the floor, breathing heavily, and watched me for a minute or two. I thought his mind was clearing. "Tommy," he muttered, "Jenny's Tommy. You'll be rich, Tommy; you'll be rich. And you needn't fear. You're not to blame, boy. It's evil gold, and there's a curse on it; but it won't hurt you. There's no blood upon your hands. Thank God for that, boy; thank God for that. You take the gold, and ask no questions. Your father asked too many questions. I gave him gold, but he would ask questions. That's dangerous, boy." He scrambled unsteadily to his feet, and said, "Come and kiss me, Tommy." But again the memory of that pursuit round the table held me doubtfully back. Now there was no Abou to lead the Captain away if he meditated treachery. The hesitation was fatal. He burst out into a torrent of reproach: "Tommy hates me. He won't believe me. I say they would have murdered me, but he won't believe me. Oh, Tommy, Tommy! My boy! And I loved you." With a sobbing cry he burst through the door and away into the woods, where I heard his voice echoing brokenly in a dying wail.