He looked at me a little oddly. “I’m not awfully well. My eyes play me tricks sometimes.... When you got off the train to-night, I could have sworn you had a white scar on your forehead. As soon as we got out here and I had a good look at you, I saw you hadn’t, of course.” Then he went back. “I don’t believe I really do see her now. I think it may be an hallucination when occasionally I think I do. Yes, I’m pretty sure that, when I think I do, it’s pure hallucination. I don’t like it; I wish she’d either go or stay.” “My dear fellow, you speak as if she had ever, in her palmiest days, been anything but an hallucination. Did you get to the point of believing that the girl you say used to hang over the staircase was real?” “She was more real than the one that sometimes I see there now. Oh, yes, she was real! What I see now--when I see it at all--is just the ghost of her.” “The ghost of a ghost!” I ejaculated. “It’s as bad as Wender’s rattlesnake.” Lithway turned to me suddenly. “Where is Wender?” “Why, don’t you know? Working on American archæology at some university--I don’t know which. He hadn’t decided on the place, when he last wrote. I was going to get his address from you.” “He won’t come here, you know. And Margaret’s feelings are a little hurt--he has often been quite near. So there’s a kind of official coolness. She doesn’t know about the ghosts, and therefore I can’t quite explain Wender’s refusals to her. Of course, I know it’s on that account; he’s as superstitious as a woman. But poor Margaret, I suppose, believes he doesn’t approve of my having taken a wife. She’s as sweet as possible about it, but I can see she’s hurt. And yet I’d rather she would be hurt than to know about the house.” “Why, in Heaven’s name, don’t you sell it and move, Lithway?” I cried. He colored faintly. “Margaret is very fond of the place. I couldn’t, considering its idiosyncrasy, sell with a good conscience, and if I didn’t sell, it would mean losing a pretty penny--more, certainly, than Margaret and I can afford to. She lost most of her own money, you know, a few years ago.” “The aunt?” “Oh, dear, no!” He said it rather hastily. “But you were quite right at the time. I ought to have gone out there ten years ago. Women never know how to manage money.” I looked him in the eyes. “Lithway, anything in the world is better than staying in this house. You’re in a bad way. You admit, yourself, you’re not well. And Mrs. Lithway would rather cut out the motor and live anywhere than have you go to pieces.” He laughed. “Tell Margaret that I’m going to pieces--if you dare!” “I’m not afraid of you, even if I should.” “No; but wouldn’t you be afraid of her?”