Altair! Yes, he remembered her, and remembering her he recalled the graceful figure at his bedside and the touch of the faintly clinging lips. That mystery remained the most inexplicable of them all. While thus he sat, dream-filled and rapt, the girl studied him, and her face changed. "You believe in Altair. What's more, you love her, and I can't blame you for it. She is more beautiful than angels. You will not forsake the 'ghost-room' so long as you have a hope that she may return." "You are mistaken," he protested. "Altair is only a dream. I worship her as a figure in a vision. Do you know what I think she was?" Her look questioned, and he went on. "For days I have pondered on her face and figure, in the light of modern science, and I am convinced that she was nothing but a union of my mother's astral self and you." She looked at him in startled thought. "What do you mean?" He explained eagerly. "You must have noticed how much like my mother she was? Her brow was the same--her eyes the same--" "Yes, they were a little like hers." "But her mouth and chin were exactly like yours. Her hands were like yours. She held her head exactly as you do--and then she changed; sometimes my mother predominated in her, sometimes you were the stronger." The girl was deeply affected by the significance of this analysis. "You imagined all that." He pushed on. "I did not, and, furthermore, Altair never came till you sat with my mother. She never attained such power--so your aunt agrees--till I came into the circle. She represented my conception of my mother and you. I loved my mother, and I admired you--and out of my love and admiration Altair was created." "That is absurd! If ever a spirit came from heaven, Altair was that one. Why, she was palpable! I've touched her hands." He said, slowly: "She was beautiful, I confess, so beautiful that on that first night she made even you seem coarse and material." "I felt your disdain," she thrust in, with sudden hurt. "But that was only for the moment. I could see nothing but her face--so sad, so wistful. But let me ask you something. Did you, the night after our walk on the drive in the moonlight--did you dream of me?" Her lip curled in a wondering smile. "What a question to ask of me!" "But did you? Come now, be honest. I have a reason for asking--did you?" "What is your reason for asking?" "That night Altair came to my bedside." Her eyes flashed and she rose to her feet. "You have an Oriental imagination." "Don't go--hear me out. It was a beautiful experience." "Apparently it was. To me your story is insulting." He lost patience a little, and said bluntly: "You act as if I charged _you_ with something. I say, 'Altair' came, and to me her visit was very _significant_ and beautiful, because she testified to me that both you and my mother were thinking of me. It was, in fact, your united astral selves that paid that visit. Altair was your materialized friendship and my mother's love."