nk Cousin Monica was also affected in the same way, for she
turned the key on the inside of the door when we entered. I do not think
one of us believed at the moment that what we had seen was a Doctor Bryerly
of flesh and blood, and yet the first thing we spoke of in the morning was
Doctor Bryerly's arrival. The mind is a different organ by night and by
day.

CHAPTER XXIII

_I TALK WITH DOCTOR BRYERLY_

Doctor Bryerly had, indeed, arrived at half-past twelve o'clock at night.
His summons at the hall-door was little heard at our remote side of the old
house of Knowl; and when the sleepy, half-dressed servant opened the
door, the lank Doctor, in glossy black clothing, was standing alone, his
portmanteau on its end upon the steps, and his vehicle disappearing in the
shadows of the old trees.

In he came, sterner and sharper of aspect than usual.

'I've been expected? I'm Doctor Bryerly. Haven't I? So, let whoever is in
charge of the body be called. I must visit it forthwith.'

So the Doctor sat in the back drawing-room, with a solitary candle; and
Mrs. Rusk was called up, and, grumbling much and very peevish, dressed and
went down, her ill-temper subsiding in a sort of fear as she approached the
visitor.

'How do you do, Madam? A sad visit this. Is anyone watching in the room
where the remains of your late master are laid?'

'No.'

'So much the better; it is a foolish custom. Will you please conduct me to
the room? I must pray where he lies--no longer _he_! And be good enough to
show me my bedroom, and so no one need wait up, and I shall find my way.'

Accompanied by the man who carried his valise, Mrs. Rusk showed him to his
apartment; but he only looked in, and then glanced rapidly about to take
'the bearings' of the door.

'Thank you--yes. Now we'll proceed, here, along here? Let me see. A turn to
the right and another to the left--yes. He has been dead some days. Is he
yet in his coffin?'

'Yes, sir; since yesterday afternoon.'

Mrs. Rusk was growing more and more afraid of this lean figure sheathed in
shining black cloth, whose eyes glittered with a horrible sort of cunning,
and whose long brown fingers groped before him, as if indicating the way by
guess.

'But, of course, the lid's not on; you've not screwed him down, hey?'

'No, sir.'

'That's well. I must look on the face as I pray. He is in his place; I here
on earth. He in the spirit; I in the flesh. The neutral ground lies there.
So