r like a death succeeding life, but like a death preliminary to
life. All felt that he might sit up at any minute.

"Stop that music!" muttered Backhouse, tottering from his chair and
facing the party. Faull touched the bell. A few more bars sounded, and
then total silence ensued.

"Anyone who wants to may approach the couch," said Backhouse with
difficulty.

Lang at once advanced, and stared awestruck at the supernatural youth.

"You are at liberty to touch," said the medium.

But Lang did not venture to, nor did any of the others, who one by one
stole up to the couch--until it came to Faull's turn. He looked straight
at Mrs. Trent, who seemed frightened and disgusted at the spectacle
before her, and then not only touched the apparition but suddenly
grasped the drooping hand in his own and gave it a powerful squeeze.
Mrs. Trent gave a low scream. The ghostly visitor opened his eyes,
looked at Faull strangely, and sat up on the couch. A cryptic smile
started playing over his mouth. Faull looked at his hand; a feeling of
intense pleasure passed through his body.

Maskull caught Mrs. Jameson in his arms; she was attacked by another
spell of faintness. Mrs. Trent ran forward, and led her out of the room.
Neither of them returned.

The phantom body now stood upright, looking about him, still with his
peculiar smile. Prior suddenly felt sick, and went out. The other
men more or less hung together, for the sake of human society, but
Nightspore paced up and down, like a man weary and impatient, while
Maskull attempted to interrogate the youth. The apparition watched him
with a baffling expression, but did not answer. Backhouse was sitting
apart, his face buried in his hands.

It was at this moment that the door was burst open violently, and a
stranger, unannounced, half leaped, half strode a few yards into the
room, and then stopped. None of Faull's friends had ever seen him
before. He was a thick, shortish man, with surprising muscular
development and a head far too large in proportion to his body. His
beardless yellow face indicated, as a first impression, a mixture of
sagacity, brutality, and humour.

"Aha-i, gentlemen!" he called out loudly. His voice was piercing, and
oddly disagreeable to the ear. "So we have a little visitor here."

Nightspore turned his back, but everyone else stared at the intruder in
astonishment. He took another few steps forward, which brought him to
the edge of the theatre.

"May I a