"Believe in it?" repeated Thomas Godolphin. "I believe that a Shadow does appear there on occasions. I cannot believe otherwise, with that ocular demonstration before me." "And how do you account for it?" asked Lord Averil. "I have been all my life trying to do so. And have come to the conclusion that it is not to be accounted for." "But I have always treated the report as the most perfect folly," rejoined Lord Averil. "Ay. No doubt. As I should do but for _that_"--and Thomas Godolphin nodded towards the Shadow, on which the peer's eyes were fixed with an intense gaze. "You and I are rational beings, Averil, not likely to be led away by superstitious folly; we live in an enlightened age, little tolerant of such things. And yet, here we stand, gazing with dispassionate eyes on that Shadow, in full possession of our sober judgment. It is there; we see it: and that is all we can tell about it. The Shadow of Ashlydyat is ridiculed from one end of the county to the other: spoken of--when spoken of at all--as an absurd superstition of the Godolphins. But there the Shadow is: and not all the ridicule extant can do away with the plain fact. I see it: but I cannot explain it." "What do you do about it?" Lord Averil asked the question in his bewilderment. A smile crossed Thomas Godolphin's lips as he answered. "We do nothing. We can do nothing. We cannot prevent its coming; we cannot send it away when it comes; we cannot bring it if it does not come of its own accord. If I reason about it for a month, Averil, I could give you no better explanation than this." Lord Averil drew a deep breath, as one awaking from a reverie. As Thomas Godolphin said: _there_ was the Shadow, visible to his eyes, his senses: but of explanation as to its cause, there was none. The little episode had driven away the impulse to speak of Cecil: and, after another hand pressure, he finally turned away, and pursued his walk to Prior's Ash. Another was also pursuing his walk to Prior's Ash; indeed, had nearly gained it; and that was Thomas Godolphin's messenger. Approaching the Bank residence, he distinguished some one standing at the entrance, and found that it was Mr. George Godolphin. "What's this?" asked George. "A letter?" "My master sent me down with it, sir." George turned it about in his hand. "Does it require an answer, do you know, Andrew?" "No, sir. My master said I need not wait." The man departed, and George carried the note into the dining-room. Maria sat there reading, underneath the chandelier. She looked pleased to see her husband, and closed the book. George had been out all the evening. He stood opposite to Maria, and tore the note open. "DEAR GEORGE, "Lord Averil's bonds are in his case in the strong-room. How could you make so great a mistake as to tell him they had gone up to town? I send you word, lest he should call for them in the morning before I reach the Bank.