t the idea of a live man crushed
(figuratively) under the heel of a ghost, I beg you to look back upon
your own experience, and count up the happenings which have struck you
as mysterious. You will be astonished at their number. But nothing is
so mysterious that it is incapable of explanation, did we but know
enough. I, by a singular mischance, was put in the way of the nameless
knowledge which explains all. At any rate, I was made acquainted with
some trifle of it. I had strayed on the seashore of the unknown, and
picked up a pebble. I had a glimpse of that other world which
permeates and exists side by side with and permeates our own.

Just now I used the phrase "under the heel of a ghost," and I used it
advisedly. It indicates pretty well my mental condition. I was cowed,
mastered. The ghost of Clarenceux, driven to extremities by the brief
scene of tenderness which had passed in Rosa's drawing-room, had
determined by his own fell method to end the relations between Rosa
and myself. And his method was to assume a complete sway over me, the
object of his hatred.

How did he exercise that sway? Can I answer? I cannot. How does one
man influence another? Not by electric wires or chemical apparatus,
but by those secret channels through which intelligence meets
intelligence. All I know is that I felt his sinister authority. During
life Clarenceux, according to every account, had been masterful,
imperious, commanding; and he carried these attributes with him beyond
the grave. His was a stronger personality than mine, and I could not
hide from myself the assurance that in the struggle of will against
will I should not be the conqueror.

Not that anything had occurred, even the smallest thing! Upon
perceiving Rosa the apparition, as I have said, vanished. We did not
say much to each other, Rosa and I; we could not--we were afraid. I
went to my hotel; I sat in my room alone; I saw no ghost. But I was
aware, I was aware of the doom which impended over me. And already,
indeed, I experienced the curious sensation of the ebbing of
volitional power; I thought even that I was losing my interest in
life. My sensations were dulled. It began to appear to me unimportant
whether I lived or died. Only I knew that in either case I should love
Rosa. My love was independent of my will, and therefore the ghost of
Clarenceux, do what it might, could not tear it from me. I might die,
I might suffer mental tortures inconceivable, but I shoul