A few seconds later he came back, his withered face almost as white as his hair. Mrs. Maclean met him ere he could speak. "Not a word before _her_" she whispered. "Meet me at the byre: I shall be there in a minute or two." But just then Lora rose and went out. "Ian Maclean, what is it?" "Mary, my kinswoman, he is not alone." "Not alone?" "I have seen _the other_" She knew now what he meant. He had seen the shadow-self, the phantasm of the living that, ere death, is often seen alongside the one who shall soon die. Mrs. Maclean knew well that this shadowy second-self simulated the real self, and that even all the actions of the body were reproduced with a grotesque verisimilitude. But she was also aware how, sometimes, one may learn from the mien of the phantasm what is hidden in the aspect of the doomed. "Last night," Ian went on in a dull voice, "I had the sight again. I saw the mist of death as high about him as when a man is sunken in a peat-bog up to the eyes." "Well? I know you have more to say." "Ay." "Speak, Ian!" With a long, indrawn breath, the old man resumed in a slow, reluctant voice. "When I came in, a little ago, I saw the sorrow there was on every face. My vision, too, came back upon me, and I had trouble. I meant to eat and go out quickly. But when Mr. Alastair began to move about, I saw that he was not alone. I knew _the other_ at once. There could be no mistake. In dress, in height, in face, in movement, they were the same. But there was a difference." Mrs. Maclean shuddered slightly, and her lips opened as though she were about to speak. With a gesture, however, she signed to Ian to continue. "Ay, there was a difference. I hoped against my eyes; but when I followed him yonder I saw what I saw, and what killed my hope." "Speak, speak, Ian!" "In all things, the same but one, and that was in the eyes, in the expression. Those of Mr. Alastair were dull and lightless, and brooding low; those of _the other_ were large and wild, and stared in terror and amaze; and on the face of the thing the Fear lay, and moved, and was alive." "O Ian, Ian, what does it mean?" "It means this, Mary, daughter of Donnacha, what, sure, you know well: that not only is the shadow of death near this house, but that upon Alastair Mac Diarmid is the mind-dark that lay upon his father and upon his father's father." "The curse of Michael be upon this evil, Ian!" "Even so, _Mhoire nighean Donnacha_." "His father was the third of his race in succession, who, soon or late, fell under that shadow. And we all know, sure we all know, that after the third generation the veil is withdrawn. This thing is an evil dream of yours, Ian Maclean!" "It is an evil doing of _some one_," muttered the old man, with sombre eyes. "Perhaps"-- But before Mrs. Maclean could say what was in her mind, Alastair and Lora entered. With downcast eyes Ian passed out, giving a furtive, terrified look behind him ere he closed the door.