'That's the air of the veldt; it burnishes a man's skin. You're looking sweet. I say, it's awfully hard lines that I can't kiss you. Mayn't I--just a little one?' 'In broad daylight, in Regent's Park, with a hundred pairs of eyes observing us from Hamilton Terrace? Thank you; some other day. When I had your note--what a note! "Meet me at the old place at noon"--I wondered who I was to meet, you or your ghost. As a matter of fact, I had a most important engagement--just at noon; but I put it off on purpose to come and see.' 'That was very dear of you. I'm not my ghost, I'm me.' 'But--Guy, have you made your fortune? You didn't seem as if you were going to make it at quite such a rate when you wrote last.' He shook his head. 'Came back with less in my pockets than when I left.' 'Then--what does it mean?' 'My uncle's dead.' 'Mr Burton?' He nodded. 'Has he left you his money? Oh, Guy!' 'As to that, I can't say. At present I know nothing. The fact is, Letty, it's--it's a queer business. You won't laugh?' 'What at?' 'Well'--he held out an envelope--'if I hadn't found this letter awaiting me telling me of the old man's death, I should have accused myself of softening of the brain, or something of the kind. As it is, I believe I've had a vision.' 'A vision! You? Guy, fancy your discovering that there are visions about.' 'You're laughing at me now.' 'I'm doing nothing of the kind. How can you say such a thing? I'm the soul of gravity. Do I ever laugh?' As a matter of fact, there was a twinkle in her eyes even as she spoke, which he perceived. 'All right; laugh it out. I don't mind. All I can say is that it's gospel truth, and seems queer enough to me, though I daresay it's extremely comic to anybody else.' 'What seems comic? You haven't said a word.' 'Let's find a seat, and I'll say a good many.' They found a seat--not the one she had been sitting on, but one which was sheltered by a tree. It was, perhaps, because it was in the shade that they temporarily ignored the fact that they were yet in Regent's Park. They were still pretty close together when he began to tell his tale. 'On the 23rd of February I had had a long day in the open. It was broiling hot, and in the evening I was glad to get back under cover. As I sat at my tent door, too tired even to smoke, I saw, right in front of me, my uncle.' 'Your uncle? Mr Burton? Where was this?' 'Perhaps three hundred miles north of Buluwayo.' 'But--what was your uncle doing there?' 'I told you it was a queer business, and so it was. Let me try to explain. Straight in front of where I was sitting the plain stretched for heaven knows how many miles right away to the horizon. There were no buildings; scarcely a bush or a tree was to be seen; just the monotonous level ground. All at once I perceived, certainly within a hundred feet of where I was, a flight of steps.' 'A flight of steps?'