It was so real, he walked to the spot and put his hands on the black mohair Davenport. And the form on it, sitting bolt upright, was but the pillow he had napped on that afternoon. He laughed and it sounded hollow to him and echoed down the hall: "How like her it looked!" He walked into Harry's room and lit the lamp there. He smiled when he glanced around the walls. There were hunting scenes and actresses in scant clothing. Tobacco pipes of all kinds on the tables, and stumps of ill-smelling cigarettes, and over the mantel was a crayon picture of Death shaking the dice of life. Two old cutlasses crossed underneath it. On his writing desk Travis picked up and read the copy of the note written to Helen the day before. He smiled with elevated eyebrows. Then he laughed ironically: "The little yellow cur--to lie down and quit--to throw her over like that! Damn him--he has a yellow streak in him and I'll take pleasure in pulling down the purse for him. Why, she was born for me anyway! That kid, and in love with Helen! Not for The Gaffs would I have him mix up with that drunken set--nor--nor, well, not for The Gaffs to have him quit like that." And yet it was news to him. Wrapped in his own selfish plans, he had never bothered himself about Harry's affairs. But he kept on saying, as if it hurt him: "The little yellow cur--and he a Travis!" He laughed: "He's got another one, I'll bet--got her to-night and by now is securely engaged. So much the better--for my plans." Again he went into the hall and walked to and fro in the dim light. But the Davenport and the pillow instantly formed themselves again into Maggie and the casket, and he turned in disgust to walk into his own room. Above his head over the doorway in the hall, on a pair of splendid antlers--his first trophy of the chase,--rested his deer gun, a clean piece of Damascus steel and old English walnut, imported years before. The barrels were forty inches and choked. The small bright hammers rested on the yellow brass caps deep sunk on steel nippers. They shone through the hammer slit fresh and ready for use. He felt a cold draught of air blow on him and turned in surprise to find the hall window, which reached to the veranda floor, open; and he could see the stars shining above the dark green foliage of the trees on the lawn without. At the same instant there swept over him a nervous fear, and he reached for his deer gun instinctively. Then there arose from the Davenport coffin a slouching unkempt form, the fine bright eyes of which, as the last rays of the moonlight fell on them, were the eyes of his dead cousin, Captain Tom, and it held out its hands pleadingly to him and tenderly and with much effort said: "_Grandfather, forgive. I've come back again._"