me to
discover the murderers of William Zane."

Duff Salter arose, in the warmth of his feelings, and paced up and down
the floor.

"Ah, William Zane," he said, "how does thy image come back to me! I was
the only friend he would permit. In pride of will and solitary purpose
he was the greatest of all. Rough, unpolished, a poor scholar, but full
of energy, he desired nothing but he believed it his. He desired me to
be his friend, and I could not have resisted if I would. He made me go
with him even on his truant expeditions, and carry his game bag along
the banks of the Tacony, or up the marshes of Rancocus. Yet it was a
happy servitude; for beneath his impetuous mastery was a soul of
devotion. He loved like Jove, and permitted no interposition in his
flame; his dogmatism and force were barbarous, but he gave like a child
and fought like a lion. I saw him last as he was about to enter on
business, in the twenty-first year of his age, an anxious young man with
black hair in natural ringlets, a pale brow, gray eyes wide apart, and
a narrow but wilful chin. He was ever on pivot, ready to spring. And
murdered!"

Duff Salter looked at the door standing ajar, attracted there by some
movement, or light, or shadow, and the very image he was describing met
his gaze. There were the black ringlets, the pale forehead, the anxious
yet wilful expression, and the years of youthful manhood. It was nothing
in this world if not William Zane!

Duff Salter felt paralyzed for a minute, as the blood flowed back to his
heart, and a sense of fright overcame him. Then he moved forward on
tip-toe, as if the image might dissolve. It did dissolve as he advanced;
with a tripping motion it receded and left a naked space. In the
darkness of the stairway it absorbed itself, and the deaf man grasped
the balustrade where it had stood, and by his trembling shook the rails
violently. He then staggered back to his mantel, first bolting the door,
as if instinctively, and swallowed a draught of brandy from a medicinal
bottle there.

"There is a ghost abroad!" exclaimed Duff Salter with a shudder. "I have
seen it."

He turned the gas on very brightly, so as to soothe his fears with
companionable light. Then, while the perspiration stood upon his
forehead, Duff Salter sat down to think.

"Why does it haunt me?" he said. "Yet whom but me should it haunt?--the
executor of my friend, intrusted with his dying wishes, bound to him by
ancient ties, and rec