you say is just conceivably possible.
But it doesn't seem to me to be the most natural explanation. The most
natural seems to me to be what I have said; and you're quite right in
saying that it's this last thing that has made the difference. It's
exactly like the grain that turns the whole bottle into solid salt. It
needed that.... But, as I've said, I can't be actually and finally
convinced until I've seen more. I'm going to see more. I wrote to
Mr. Vincent this morning."

"You did?" cried the girl.

"Don't be silly, please.... Yes, I did. I told him I'd be at his
service when I came back to London. Not to have done that would have
been cowardly and absurd. I owe him that."

"Laurie, I wish you wouldn't," said the girl pleadingly.

He sat up a little, disturbed by this very unusual air of hers.

"But if it's all such nonsense," he said, "what's there to be afraid
of?"

"It's--it's morbid," said Maggie, "morbid and horrible. Of course it's
nonsense; but it's--it's wicked nonsense."

Laurie flushed a little.

"You're polite," he said.

"I'm sorry," she said penitently. "But you know, really--"

The boy suddenly blazed up a little.

"You seem to think I've got no heart," he cried. "Suppose it was
true--suppose really and truly Amy was here, and--"

A sudden clear sharp sound like the crack of a whip sounded from the
corner of the room. Even Maggie started and glanced at the boy. He was
dead white on the instant; his lips were trembling.

"What was that?" he whispered sharp and loud.

"Just the woodwork," she said tranquilly; "the thaw has set in
tonight."

Laurie looked at her; his lips still moved nervously.

"But--but--" he began.

"Dear boy, don't you see the state of nerves--"

Again came the little sharp crack, and she stopped. For an instant she
was disturbed; certain possibilities opened before her, and she
regarded them. Then she crushed them down, impatiently and half
timorously. She stood up abruptly.

"I'm going to bed," she said. "This is too ridiculous--"

"No, no; don't leave me ... Maggie ... I don't like it."

She sat down again, wondering at his childishness, and yet conscious
that her own nerves, too, were ever so slightly on edge. She would not
look at him, for fear that the meeting of eyes might hint at more than
she meant. She threw her head back on her chair and remained looking
at the ceiling. But to think that the souls of the dead--ah, how
repulsive!

Outside the nig