"Not there," he said. "In the window."

I looked in at the window, saw nothing, and said so. There was the
great empty drawing-room, across which one could see the opposite
window, and through this the eastern piazza and the garden beyond.
Nothing more was there. With some persuasion, Severance was induced to
look in. He admitted that he saw nothing peculiar; but he refused all
explanation, and we went home.

"Never let me go to that house again," he said abruptly, as we entered
our own door.

I pointed out to him the absurdity of thus yielding to a nervous
delusion, which was already in part conquered, and he finally promised
to revisit the scene with me the next day. To clear all possible
misgivings from my own mind, I got the key of the house from Paul,
explored it thoroughly, and was satisfied that no improper visitor had
recently entered the drawing-room at least, as the windows were
strongly bolted on the inside, and a large cobweb, heavy with dust,
hung across the doorway. This did no great credit to Paul's
stewardship, but was, perhaps, a slight relief to me. Nor could I see a
trace of anything uncanny outside the house. When Severance went with
me, next day, the coast was equally clear, and I was glad to have cured
him so easily.

Unfortunately, it did not last. A few days after, there was a brilliant
sunset, after a storm, with gorgeous yellow light slanting everywhere,
and the sun looking at us between bars of dark purple cloud, edged with
gold where they touched the pale blue sky; all this fading at last into
a great whirl of gray to the northward, with a cold purple ground. At
the height of the show, I climbed the wall to my favorite piazza, and
was surprised to find Severance already there.

He sat facing the sunset, but with his head sunk between his hands. At
my approach, he looked up, and rose to his feet. "Do not deceive me any
more," he said, almost savagely, and pointed to the window.

I looked in, and must confess that, for a moment, I too was startled.
There was a perceptible moment of time during which it seemed as if no
possible philosophy could explain what appeared in sight. Not that any
object showed itself within the great drawing-room, but I distinctly
saw--across the apartment, and through the opposite window--the dark
figure of a man about my own size, who leaned against the long window,
and gazed intently on me. Above him spread the yellow sunset light,
around him the birch-boughs