even the appearance of the supernatural
from his house and from his mind. So Trenholme argued, choosing the
satirical fool of the Forest of Arden to keep him company.

"Now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a
better place: but travellers must be content."

Trenholme smiled. He had actually so controlled his mind as to become
lost in his book.

There was a sound as if of movement on the light snow near by and of
hard breathing. Trenholme's senses were all alert again now as he turned
his head to listen. When the moving figure had seemed so indifferent to
his calls, what reason could it have now for seeking his door--unless,
indeed, it were a dead man retracing his steps by some mysterious
impulse, such as even the dead might feel? Trenholme's heart beat low
with the thought as he heard a heavy body bump clumsily against the
baggage-room door and a hand fumble at its latch. There was enough light
shining through his window to have shown any natural man that the small
door of his room was the right one by which to enter, yet the fumbling
at the other door continued.

Trenholme went into the dark baggage-room and heard the stir against the
door outside. He went near it. Whoever was there went on fumbling to
find some way of entrance.

By this time, if Trenholme had suffered any shock of dismay, he had
righted himself, as a ship rights itself after shuddering beneath a
wave. Clearly it now came within his province to find out what the
creature wanted; he went back into his room and opened its outer door.

Extending beyond the wall, the flooring of the house made a little
platform outside, and, as the opening of the door illuminated this, a
man came quietly across the threshold with clumsy gait. This man was no
ghost. What fear of the supernatural had gathered about Trenholme's mind
fell off from it instantly in self-scorn. The stranger was tall and
strong, dressed in workman's light-coloured clothes, with a big,
somewhat soiled bit of white cotton worn round his shoulders as a shawl.
He carried in his hand a fur cap such as Canadian farmers wear; his grey
head was bare. What was chiefly remarkable was that he passed Trenholme
without seeming to see him, and stood in the middle of the room with a
look of expectation. His face, which was rugged, with a glow of
weather-beaten health upon it, had a brightness, a strength, an
eagerness, a sensibility, which were indescribable.

"Well?" asked Tr