rry to finish this letter, if Mrs. Wilson Ebbit is going
to get word in time to come to the funeral," replied Caroline shortly.

Mrs. Brigham rose, her work slipping to the floor, and she began
walking around the room, moving various articles of furniture, with her
eyes on the shadow.

Then suddenly she shrieked out:

"Look at this awful shadow! What is it? Caroline, look, look!
Rebecca, look! _What is it_?"

All Mrs. Brigham's triumphant placidity was gone. Her handsome face
was livid with horror. She stood stiffly pointing at the shadow.

"Look!" said she, pointing her finger at it. "Look! What is it?"

Then Rebecca burst out in a wild wail after a shuddering glance at the
wall:

"Oh, Caroline, there it is again! There it is again!"

"Caroline Glynn, you look!" said Mrs. Brigham. "Look! What is that
dreadful shadow?"

Caroline rose, turned, and stood confronting the wall.

"How should I know?" she said.

"It has been there every night since he died," cried Rebecca.--"Every
night?"

"Yes. He died Thursday and this is Saturday; that makes three nights,"
said Caroline rigidly. She stood as if holding herself calm with a
vise of concentrated will.

"It--it looks like--like----" stammered Mrs. Brigham in a tone of
intense horror.--"I know what it looks like well enough," said
Caroline. "I've got eyes in my head."

"It looks like Edward," burst out Rebecca in a sort of frenzy of fear.
"Only----"

"Yes, it does," assented Mrs. Brigham, whose horror-stricken tone
matched her sister's, "only---- Oh, it is awful! What is it,
Caroline?"

"I ask you again, how should I know?" replied Caroline. "I see it
there like you. How should I know any more than you?"--"It _must_ be
something in the room," said Mrs. Brigham, staring wildly around.

"We moved everything in the room the first night it came," said
Rebecca; "it is not anything in the room."

Caroline turned upon her with a sort of fury. "Of course it is
something in the room," said she. "How you act! What do you mean by
talking so? Of course it is something in the room."

"Of course, it is," agreed Mrs. Brigham, looking at Caroline
suspiciously. "Of course it must be. It is only a coincidence. It
just happens so. Perhaps it is that fold of the window curtain that
makes it. It must be something in the room."

"It is not anything in the room," repeated Rebecca with obstinate
horror.

The door opened suddenly and Henry Glynn en