the storm,
knew him. As the Dead Man came up the walk between the trim beds of
rain-soaked flowers, the old dog crawled rheumatically to its feet, the
bleared eyes brightening, the feathered tail awag in joyous greeting to
the loved master who had been so long and so unaccountably absent.

Peter Grimm laid a hand caressingly on his old pet's head; then passed
into his former home.

And so, at Frederik's frightened demand, "Who came into the room?" the
Dead Man stood among his own again. Before him was the nephew he had
loved. Nearby were the husband and wife whose follies and harmless
affectations he had forgiven with a laugh of amusement, for the sake of
their goodness and for the devotion they bore himself. Lounging in the
chair that had been his own was the lawyer who had been his dear friend
and adviser. The friends he had cared for, the nephew on whom his every
hope had been set.

With a wistful half-smile, Peter Grimm surveyed the group.

And, as Marta brought in one lighted lamp and then bustled about
lighting another, he stood in clear view of them all. Clad in the same
old-fashioned garb with which they were so familiar, he was unchanged,
save that all age and all care lines were wiped from his face.

He was not a wraith, no grisly spectre, no half-nebulous Shape. He was
Peter Grimm, rugged, homespun, the man whose iron individuality had
undergone and could undergo no change.

He stood there in the lamplight, plainly visible--to such as had eyes to
see him.

The dog, with that sense which God gives to all animals and withholds
from all humans, had had no more difficulty in recognising him than when
Peter Grimm had walked the earth in the flesh.

The faculty which makes a sleeping dog awake, raise its head, wag its
tail and follow with its eyes the movements of some invisible form that
moves from place to place in a room,--which makes a flock of chickens
scatter squawking and fluttering when no human being can discern cause
for their flight--which makes a horse shy violently when travelling a
patch of road, apparently barren of anything to alarm him,--which makes
a cat suddenly arch its back and spit and strike at the Unseen, or else
rub purringly against an invisible hand--this faculty made Peter Grimm
very real to his blear-eyed, asthmatic old collie.

But the inmates of the room, being but human, had seen and heard
nothing. Frederik, it is true, being in a constant state of nervous
tension that ren