Suddenly, as he looked, the rower resumed his sculls; but he paddled slowly, his eyes on the figure on the bridge all the while. Not until the boat had vanished round a bend were they, Gilead felt, withdrawn, releasing him to his own thoughts. Those were strange enough in all conscience--compact of wonder and perplexity. It was a certain comfort to him to find his theory vindicated; that he had run his quarry actually to earth--or water. It was a comfort also to find that last night’s case, psychically, was one of those, as he had suggested, of astral visitation, and that his ghost had represented no disembodied spirit. The girl had passed at this moment beneath his eyes alive and in the flesh, which laid all haunting of a worser suspicion. At the same time what intensity of longing had materialized her spirit in Miss Halifax’s place, and how was he, without laying himself open to a charge of insufferable interference, to find out? He crossed the bridge again, and stared at the pale-green houseboat. It lay very solitary, well off the bank, in a deep pool near the rushes. As far as he could make out, it appeared a luxurious well-fitted craft of moderate size, with an over awning and plenty of bright brass about it; while, swinging at its stern was a smart racing punt. Well, that told him nothing, unless perhaps that its owner was independent and well-to-do. He might discover, maybe, more at Datchet. Oddly preoccupied, he continued his walk, lunched at Windsor, and leisurely towards evening returned to the village and strolled down upon the hard. The river looked pleasantly inviting, and a thought occurred to him. Averse from exciting too much curiosity, he decided upon hiring a boat and boatman, and, while being pulled up-stream, putting what cautious questions should occur to him. A minute or two later he was afloat. “I was looking over the bridge this morning,” he said presently. “Who owns that green houseboat near by?” “The _Dragonfly_, sir? Name of Dangerfield, sir,” said the man. “He’s said to be an acting gentleman. He took it off of another party for the season.” “He makes the season a late one, it seems.” The man laughed--significantly, Gilead fancied. “Honeymooning, perhaps?” he continued. “I saw him, as I passed, put off with a lady.” “Yes, I seen her,” said the man--“we all seen her, and like her looks as little as he seems to. It’s not his first. They comes and goes, and we asks no questions. This one turned up from nowhere three days ago. She was just there; and maybe in a week or so she’ll be gone. O, he’s a caution!” Gilead bit his lip, considering awhile. “_Why_ don’t you like her looks?” he asked suddenly. The man paused in his rowing to squeeze his mouth together.