e faltered. I could say no more.

"You wrong me," said the ghost. "I have not injured you. I have
tried only to encourage and assist you, and it is your own folly
that has done this mischief. But do not despair. Such mistakes as
these can be explained. Keep up a brave heart. Good-by."

And he vanished from the railing like a bursting soap-bubble.

I went gloomily to bed, but I saw no apparitions that night except
those of despair and misery which my wretched thoughts called up.
The words I had uttered had sounded to Madeline like the basest
insult. Of course there was only one interpretation she could put
upon them.

As to explaining my ejaculations, that was impossible. I thought the
matter over and over again as I lay awake that night, and I
determined that I would never tell Madeline the facts of the case.
It would be better for me to suffer all my life than for her to know
that the ghost of her uncle haunted the house. Mr. Hinckman was
away, and if she knew of his ghost she could not be made to believe
that he was not dead. She might not survive the shock! No, my heart
could bleed, but I would never tell her.

The next day was fine, neither too cool nor too warm; the breezes
were gentle, and Nature smiled. But there were no walks or rides
with Madeline. She seemed to be much engaged during the day, and I
saw but little of her. When we met at meals she was polite, but very
quiet and reserved. She had evidently determined on a course of
conduct, and had resolved to assume that, although I had been very
rude to her, she did not understand the import of my words. It would
be quite proper, of course, for her not to know what I meant by my
expressions of the night before.

I was downcast and wretched and said but little, and the only bright
streak across the black horizon of my woe was the fact that she did
not appear to be happy, although she affected an air of unconcern.
The moon-lit porch was deserted that evening, but wandering about
the house, I found Madeline in the library alone. She was reading,
but I went in and sat down near her. I felt that, although I could
not do so fully, I must in a measure explain my conduct of the night
before. She listened quietly to a somewhat labored apology I made
for the words I had used.

"I have not the slightest idea what you meant," she said, "but you
were very rude."

I earnestly disclaimed any intention of rudeness, and assured her,
with a warmth of speech that must