"God forbid," said Sir Robert, with a fervency which startled while it reassured me. "It is my profound belief that not only we are something more than our bodies, but that our bodies are the merest outer dress of the real ourselves. It is also my profound belief that at death we--the real we--either enter at once into a state of rest temporarily, or, in some cases--for I do not believe in any cut-and-dry rule independently of _individual_ considerations--are privileged at once to enter upon a sphere of nobler and purer labour," and here the speaker's eyes glowed with a light that was not of this world. "Is it then the least probable, is it not altogether discordant with our 'common sense'--a Divine gift which we may employ fearlessly--to suppose that these real 'selves,' freed from the weight of their discarded garments, would leave either their blissful repose, _or_, still less, their new activities, to come back to wander about, purposelessly and aimlessly, in this world, at best only perplexing and alarming such as may perceive them? Is it not contrary to all we find of the wisdom and _reasonableness_ of such laws as we _do_ know something about?" "I have often thought so," I said, "and hitherto this has led me to be very sceptical about all ghost stories." "But they are often true--so far as they go," he replied. "Our natures are much more complex than we ourselves understand or realise. I cannot now go at all thoroughly into the subject, but to give you a rough idea of my will-o'-the-wisp theory--can you not imagine a sort of shadow, or echo of ourselves, lingering about the scenes we have frequented on this earth, which under certain very rare conditions--the state of the atmosphere among others--may be perceptible to those still 'clothed upon' with this present body? To attempt a simile, I might suggest the perfume that lingers when the flowers are thrown away, the smoke that gradually dissolves after the lamp is extinguished! This is very, very loosely and roughly the _sort_ of thing I mean by my 'will-o'-the-wisps.'" "I don't like it at all," said Margaret, though she smiled a little. "I think I should be more frightened if I saw that kind of ghost--I mean if I thought it that kind--than by a good, honest, old-fashioned one, who knew what it was about and meant to come." "But you have just said," he objected, "that they never do seem to know what they are about. Besides, why should you be frightened?--our fears, ourselves in fact--are the only thing we really need be frightened of--our weaknesses and ignorances and folly. There was great truth in that rather ghastly story of Calderra's, allegory though it is, about the man whose evil genius was himself; have you read it?" We all shook our heads.