"And if he has," I said, calmly, for I saw that she was much agitated, "are you any more afraid of him now than you were when he was in the body? You loved him then; think you he will harm you now? Rather you ought to be glad, since you believe in ghosts, that it is a good spirit which haunts these premises--the innocent spirit of the murdered, not the guilty one of the murderer." "I know it," she said. "I'm not afraid--I don't think I could be really afraid of Henry's ghost, even if I should see it; but it's so--awful, isn't it?" "Not to me, at all. If such things were permitted, I should like to meet this spiritual visitant, and ask him the one question--if, indeed, he could answer it. I should like to have him point out the guilty. If his hand could reach out from the spiritual world, and stretch a blasting finger toward his murderer, that would be awful to the accursed one, but it would be welcome to me. But what makes you think Henry has been here?" She pointed to the bed; there was a pressure upon it, as if some light shape had lain there--just the faintest indentation of a head on one of the pillows; from thence she pointed to a little writing-table, between the windows, on which a book lay open, and where there were some papers and engravings; then to a pair of slippers standing on the carpet at the head of the bed. The room was a delightful one, furnished with blue and white--Henry's favorite colors. Two or three exquisite little pictures hung on the walls, and not the slightest toy occupied a niche in any place but spoke of the taste and refinement which had chosen it. From the two windows, the view of the river flowing amidst the hills, and the lovely country spreading far away, was such as would satisfy the eye of a poet, turned from the page before him on the little writing-table, to rest upon the fairer page of nature. "I came into this room the day of the funeral," said the housekeeper, with a trembling voice, "and I sot all to rights, as if the master was coming back the next day. But little I thought he would really come! I spread that bed as smooth as paper; I put on fresh slips on the pillows, and sot 'em up without a dent or wrinkle in 'em; I put his slippers with their toes to the wall, and now they're standin' as he always left 'em when he took 'em off. Them papers has been stirred, and he's been readin' in that book. _She_ gave him that, and it was a favorite with him; I've often seen him with it in his hand. You may shake your head, Mr. Redfield, but _I know_ Henry's been back here in his room." "If any thing in this room has been disturbed, rest assured there's been some living intruder here. A spirit would have had no need of slippers, and would have made no impression on your smooth bed."