Presently the girl’s eyelids fluttered, and she began talking--her words disconnected and broken like those of one in a dream. “Saw it--saw--spirit--Uncle Gordon. Must be--be his--ghost. Saw--put arm--through it.” Lightly I placed my hand on the smooth, cool forehead. Then she opened her eyes and looked earnestly into mine. “What--what was I saying?” she asked, apparently quite bewildered. “You fainted,” I replied. “Don’t worry. Everything is all right.” “But where is Dr. Dorp?” “Just went in the house to look around. He’ll be out in a few minutes, no doubt.” We waited a full twenty minutes, but still the doctor did not appear. Miss Van Loan had taken one of the wicker porch chairs, assuring me that she had fully recovered. I was sitting in another. All sounds in the house had ceased, and I began to feel some apprehension for the doctor’s safety. “Do you mind staying alone for a few minutes?” I asked. “I should like to go and see if my friend is all right.” “I’ll go with you,” she replied, rising. “Are you sure you are strong enough?” “Of course. Oh, I do hope nothing happened to him. I should never forgive myself.” We met the pale houseman in the hall. “Where is the doctor, Riggs?” she asked. “I don’t know, ma’am. I heard someone goin’ up the stairs a while ago. Might have been him.” “You haven’t seen him?” “No ma’am. I come in just now to ask if you would be a-needin’ of me any more this evenin’. I feel sort of tired like, after--” “I know, Riggs. You haven’t had much rest for the last three nights. You may go.” “Thank you, ma’am.” We ascended the stairs, the steps of which creaked weirdly under our weight. I could readily understand why Riggs had been able to hear them from the service quarters. At the top was a long hallway with a door at one end, a window at the other, and two doors on either side. Miss Van Loan opened the first door at our right, and we entered a bedroom daintily furnished in cane and ivory, with light blue hangings and spreads. “This is my room,” she informed me. “We have four bedrooms, each with a private bath and clothes closet.” I looked into the bath and clothes closet, but both were untenanted. Then we passed to the next room. This was furnished in burled walnut, with light green the prevailing color. No sign of the doctor here. The next room, which was just across the hall, was furnished in massive oak, with a taupe and maroon color scheme. Somehow it seemed thoroughly a man’s room. “This belonged to Uncle Gordon,” said the girl. “It was in that bed that he died.” I looked at the bed and somehow the gray and maroon of the bolster and spread reminded me of blood trickling over a sacrificial slab of granite. With this thought came an inexplicable feeling of horror which I could not shake off. * * * * * “It is back!” said the girl, suddenly, a note of terror in her voice.