er shall feel so old again."

"You are such comfortable people in these days," said I, "that I can't
imagine you as soldiers living such a rough and cruel life as that
must have been."

I happened to look up at Mr. Whiston; and to my dismay he looked paler
than ever, and was uneasy. He looked over his shoulder as if he knew a
ghost was standing there, and he followed something with his eyes for
a moment or two in a way that gave me a little chill of fear. I looked
over at Jack to know if he was watching also, and I was rejoiced when
he suddenly nodded to me, and asked George Sheffield something about
the cigars; and George, who had also noticed, answered him, and began
to talk to me about an opera which we had both heard the evening
before. I did not know whether they had chanced upon an unlucky
subject, or whether Mr. Whiston was crazy; but at any rate he seemed
ill at ease, and was not inclined to talk any more. He looked gloomier
and more frightened than ever. I went into the library, and presently
they followed me; and Mr. Whiston came to say goodnight, though, when
Jack insisted that he should not go away so early,--for it was only
half-past nine,--he sat down again with a half-sigh, as if it made
little difference to him where he was.

"You're not well, I'm afraid, Whiston," said my brother in his most
professional tone. "I think I shall have to look after you a little.
By the way, are you at a hotel? I wish you would come to us for a few
days. I'll drive you to Cambridge, and you know there are a good many
of your old friends here in town." And I seconded this invitation,
though I most devoutly hoped it would not be accepted. I had a
suspicion that he would be a most uncomfortable guest.

"Thank you, Miss Ainslie," said he, with a quick, pleasant smile, that
brought back my first liking for him. "You're very good, but I'm not
exactly in trim for paying visits. I will come to you for to-morrow
night, Ainslie, if you like. I should be glad to see you and Sheffield
again--to say good-by. I am going out in the Marathon on Saturday."

Later, when he had gone, Jack and my cousin and I had a talk about
this strange guest of ours. "Is he crazy?" said I to begin with; "and
did you see him look at a ghost at dinner? I'm sure it was a ghost."
And George Sheffield laughed; but one of us was as much puzzled as the
other. "I thought at first he was melodramatic," said he; "but there's
something wrong about him. Is he craz