Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (128 page)

Lithway
passed
his
hand
across
his
brows.
"I
don't
know.
I'm
not quite
sure.
Sometimes
I
think
so.
But
I
couldn't
swear
to
it."

"Has
she
grown
dimmer,
then—more
hazy?
You
used
to
speak
of her
as
if
she
were
a
real
woman
coming
to
a
tryst:
flesh
and
blood,
at the
least."

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?"
198

"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
archaeology
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."