hings in the house over and over again, and
she has if't and haffled over everything. She's been longing, surely."
The deep voice had a touch of tremor in it this time, and the twinkling
old eyes looked hazy.

"Ah, of course!" shouted Paul, in stentorian tones, and he laughed about
as heartily as the parson.

Greta's tears were gone in an instant.

"You must go home at once, Paul," she said; "your mother must not wait a
moment longer."

He laughed and bantered and talked of his dismissal. She stopped him
with a grave face and a solemn word. At last his jubilant spirit was
conquered; he realized that something was amiss. Then she told him what
happened at the Ghyll on Monday night. He turned white, and at first
stood tongue-tied. Next he tried to laugh it off, but the laughter fell
short.

"Must have been my brother," he said; "it's true, we're not much alike,
but then it was night, dark night, and you had no light but the dim
lamp--and at least there's a family resemblance."

"Your brother Hugh was sitting in his room."

Paul's heart sickened with an indescribable sensation.

"You found the door of my mother's room standing open?"

"Wide open."

"And Hugh was in his own room?" said Paul, his eyes flashing and his
teeth set.

"I saw him there a moment later."

"My features, my complexion, my height, and my build, you say?"

"The same in everything."

Paul lifted his face, and in that luminous twilight it were an
expression of peculiar horror: "In fact, myself--in a glass?"

Greta shuddered and answered, "Just that, Paul; neither more nor less."

"Very strange," he muttered. He was shaken to the depths. Greta crept
closer to his breast.

"And when my mother recovered she said nothing?"

"Nothing."

"You did not question her?"

"How could I? But I was hungering for a word."

Paul patted her head with his tenderest touch.

"Have you seen her since?"

"Not since. I have been ill--I mean, rather unwell."

Parson Christian twisted again in his chair. "What do you think, my lad?
Greta in a dream last night rose out of bed, went to the stair-head, and
there fell to the ground."

"My poor darling," said Paul, the absent look flying from his eyes.

"But, blessed be God, she has no harm," said the parson, and turned once
more to his guest.

"Paul, you must hurry away now. Good-bye for the present, dearest. Kiss
me good-bye."

But Paul stood there still.

"Greta, do you ever feel that what is