When I was able, I rose and walked through the house again. Again the rooms showed nothing to my flashlight except dull furniture, walls peeling here and there from long neglect, pictures of no merit and dreary subject. I had expected nothing, and I found nothing. It was on my way upstairs to my bedroom that a sentence from the invisible lady's story came back to my mind. "What crouches behind her, unseen? The Horror takes Its own----" The bedroom door opened quietly under my hand. The rain had ceased and a freshening breeze came from the west, filling the room with sweet country air. The candle had burned down. While I stood there, the flame flickered out. After a brief indecision, I made my way to the bed, rolled myself in the blankets, and laid down between the four pineapple-topped posts. This time I kept the flashlight at my hand. But almost at once I slept, and slept heavily far into a bright, windy March morning. CHAPTER III "Wide is the seat of the man gentle of speech." --INSTRUCTION OF KE' GEMNI. On the second day after my return to New York, my Aunt Caroline Knox called me up on the telephone. There are reasons why I always feel myself at a disadvantage with Aunt Caroline. The first of these brings me to a trifling matter that I should have set down before, but which I have made a habit of ignoring so far as possible in both thought and speech. As was Lord Byron, I am slightly lame. I admit that is the only quality in common; still, I like the romantic association. Now, my limp is very slight, and I never have found it interfered much with things I cared to do. In fact, I am otherwise somewhat above the average in strength and vigor. But from my boyhood Aunt Caroline always made a point of alluding to the physical fact as often as possible. She considered that course a healthful discipline. "My nephew," she was accustomed to introduce me. "Lame since he was seven. Roger, do not scowl! Yes; run over trying to save a pet dog. A mongrel of no value whatever!" Which would have left some doubt as to whether she referred to poor Tatters or to me, had it not been for her exceeding pride in our family tree. The second reason for my disadvantage before her, was her utter contempt for my profession as a composer of popular music. Today her voice came thinly to me across the long-distance wire. "Your Cousin Phillida has failed in her examinations again," she announced to me, with a species of tragic repose. "In view of her father's intellect and my--er--my family's, her mental status is inexplicable. Although, of course, there is your own case!" "Why, she is the most educated girl I know," I protested hastily. "I presume you mean best educated, Roger. Pray do not quite lose your command of language."