"Why, what do you mean?" I faltered, "what have you seen; what's happened to you?" He did not reply; with a trembling hand he poured out some more of the liquor, and drank it; and even then, as he did so, he paused to listen again with that curious intentness. Finally he got over to the further end of the room, and then pointed to the door, and whispered-- "Open it now, Charlie--quick!" I confess I was as much shaken as he seemed to be; I pulled open the door, however, and looked out. There was no one there, and I told him so as I closed it again. "Last night in the garden--while you ran and called to something or some one--I saw her," he said in a whisper. "I told you then it was the dead come alive; I tell you so again now, Charlie. To-night in London, as I tramped through the streets (and I swear I was not thinking of her in any way), I saw her face pass me again--it was as though there was some strange light upon it, that never was on this earth. Before God, Charlie, she's come back; as I live, she means to haunt me and to follow me!" I saw in a moment what had happened. The face of that elder Barbara, as he had seen it for a moment, had been to him the face of the woman he believed to be dead; his further meeting her in London had been a mere accident. I hesitated to tell him the truth: that this woman was alive. I did not know how much further I might be complicating matters, or what greater difficulties I might be creating. For the present, at least, I determined to hold my tongue, and to let him think what he would. He went on with his rambling talk. "I've heard of men being driven mad like that," he said; "I've heard that some one, deeply wronged, may come back from the grave, to work a more bitter vengeance than they could have done in life. Is there any truth in that, Charlie?" I began to see that this better mood might be useful; that this implacable creature, who had pursued his vengeance so relentlessly and so long, might perhaps be turned a little from his purpose if he supposed that the spirit of the dead woman was following him, to take account of what he was doing. His next words confirmed that impression in my mind. "I helped Olivant and Dawkins last night and yesterday over that matter of the girl; spied out the land for them, and told them where you were, and what you were doing. I meant all along to drag the girl down, as I meant years ago to drag down the mother: she had her mother's look, and her mother's voice, and I hated her for them. But I'm afraid, Charlie; I find myself starting at shadows. You saw her last night in the garden; I heard you call to her." "Yes, I saw her," I replied steadily.