They arose to go and Tom helped her over puddles which had remained after the late rains. He did not release her hand as promptly as he might have done. And when he did, he ventured to adjust the sweater which hung rather loosely on her shoulder. He was all for service. “I think a fellow can learn a lot more from a girl than he can from another fellow, don’t you?” he asked. “I mean especially—you know what I mean—if she—sort of—you know—has an influence on him?” His passion for service had become so great that on their way to the cottage he reached over and adjusted the sweater on her further shoulder so that it might more effectually protect her from the rising breeze. He did this carefully, not hurriedly. After he had left her he was sorry that when they spoke of service he had not reminded her that Ned Whalen had been in service and had a cruel wound to show for it. His thoughts lingered on Whalen but he thought of him mostly in connection with Audry. His thoughts of Whalen were a sort of by-product.... CHAPTER XXIV GHOSTS OF YESTERDAY The ledge mentioned by Miranda was not haunted, but if any place in this world _were_ haunted it would be such a place. Any spook would sign a lease for the premises on sight. It was not so much the ledge (which was just a large flat stone) as the trail leading to it, which justified Miranda’s fearful apprehensions. From the clearing behind the hotel an obscure trail leads through a jungle of rock and forest. It runs along the summit of the mountain. But the southern face of Overlook is precipitous, and it is along this precipitous part that the old trail runs. If one goes far enough along this trail he will find it winding away from the sheer, rocky face of the mountain and following an easy descent through the woods. But for a mile or so it runs along the brow of a mighty cliff. Covering this almost sheer descent is a jungle in which, probably, no human foot has ever trod. Climbed would be a better word, for indeed walking would be out of the question in this almost perpendicular chaos of rocks and deformed trees. Here and there a rocky crevice may be seen, and far down in its narrowing depth a jumble of nature’s debris, trees distorted by confinement and vegetation strange in color for the lack of sunlight. Here rattlesnakes hold sway, and in a certain gleam of sunshine which penetrates one of these narrow canyons for a few brief moments each day, may be seen what looks like a little group of gray twigs, said to be the bones of some hapless pilgrim precipitated down between the narrow walls of rock many years ago.