"If we tell any one," Philip went on, "that means," with a rather irritating smile of self-confidence, "if by any possibility I do not succeed in making an end of your ghost and we want another opinion about it, the person to tell would be Miss Larpent." "Yes," I said, "I think so, too." I would not risk irritating him by saying how convinced I was that conviction awaited _him_ as surely it had come to myself, and I knew that Miss Larpent, though far from credulous, was equally far from stupid scepticism concerning the mysteries "not dreamt of" in ordinary "philosophy". "What do you mean to do?" I went on. "You have a theory, I see. Won't you tell me what it is?" "I have two," said Phil, rolling up a cigarette as he spoke. "It is either some queer optical illusion, partly the effect of some odd reflection outside--or it is a clever trick." "A trick!" I exclaimed; "what _possible_ motive could there be for a trick?" Phil shook his head. "Ah," he said, "that I cannot at present say." "And what are you going to do?" "I shall sit up to-night in the gallery and see for myself." "Alone?" I exclaimed, with some misgiving. For big, sturdy fellow as he was, I scarcely liked to think of him--of _any one_--alone with that awful thing. "I don't suppose you or Dormy would care to keep me company," he replied, "and on the whole I would rather not have you." "I wouldn't do it," said the child honestly, "not for--for nothing." "I shall keep Tim with me," said Philip, "I would rather have him than any one." Tim is Phil's bull-dog, and certainly, I agreed, much better than nobody. So it was settled. Dormy and I went to bed unusually early that night, for as the day wore on we both felt exceedingly tired. I pleaded a headache, which was not altogether a fiction, though I repented having complained at all when I found that poor mamma immediately began worrying herself with fears that "after all" I, too, was to fall a victim to the influenza. "I shall be all right in the morning," I assured her. I knew no further details of Phil's arrangements. I fell asleep almost at once. I usually do. And it seemed to me that I had slept a whole night when I was awakened by a glimmering light at my door, and heard Philip's voice speaking softly. "Are you awake, Lel?" he said, as people always say when they awake you in any untimely way. Of course, _now_ I was awake, very much awake indeed. "What is it?" I exclaimed eagerly, my heart beginning to beat very fast. "Oh, nothing, nothing at all," said my brother, advancing a little into the room. "I just thought I'd look in on my way to bed to reassure you. I have seen _nothing_, absolutely nothing." I do not know if I was relieved or disappointed. "Was it moonlight?" I asked abruptly. "No," he replied, "unluckily the moon did not come out at all, though it is nearly at the full. I carried in a small lamp, which made things less eerie. But I should have preferred the moon."