"In the name of heaven, what for?" "It was a boys' compact. We made a sacred pledge, a bargain. I remember it all perfectly now. We had been reading some dreadful book and we swore to appear to one another--I mean, whoever died first swore to show himself to the other. And we sealed the compact with each other's blood. I remember it all so well--the hot summer afternoon in the playground, seven years ago--and one of the masters caught us and confiscated the knives--and I have never thought of it again to this day--" "And you mean--" stammered Greene. But Marriott made no answer. He got up and crossed the room and lay down wearily upon the sofa, hiding his face in his hands. Greene himself was a bit non-plussed. He left his friend alone for a little while, thinking it all over again. Suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. He went over to where Marriott still lay motionless on the sofa and roused him. In any case it was better to face the matter, whether there was an explanation or not. Giving in was always the silly exit. "I say, Marriott," he began, as the other turned his white face up to him. "There's no good being so upset about it. I mean--if it's all an hallucination we know what to do. And if it isn't--well, we know what to think, don't we?" "I suppose so. But it frightens me horribly for some reason," returned his friend in a hushed voice. "And that poor devil--" "But, after all, if the worst is true and--and that chap _has_ kept his promise--well, he has, that's all, isn't it?" Marriott nodded. "There's only one thing that occurs to me," Greene went on, "and that is, are you quite sure that--that he really ate like that--I mean that he actually _ate anything at all_?" he finished, blurting out all his thought. Marriott stared at him for a moment and then said he could easily make certain. He spoke quietly. After the main shock no lesser surprise could affect him. "I put the things away myself," he said, "after we had finished. They are on the third shelf in that cupboard. No one's touched 'em since." He pointed without getting up, and Greene took the hint and went over to look. "Exactly," he said, after a brief examination; "just as I thought. It was partly hallucination, at any rate. The things haven't been touched. Come and see for yourself." Together they examined the shelf. There was the brown loaf, the plate of stale scones, the oatcake, all untouched. Even the glass of whisky Marriott had poured out stood there with the whisky still in it. "You were feeding--no one," said Greene "Field ate and drank nothing. He was not there at all!" "But the breathing?" urged the other in a low voice, staring with a dazed expression on his face.