would speak to him, but she only looked at him with
sad eyes; and he stood there in the shadow of the rocks without moving,
and she passed on into the twilight.

Had he on his return cared to discuss the subject with his landlord, had
he even shown himself a ready listener--for the old man loved to
gossip--he might have learnt that a young widow lady named Mrs. Charles
Seabohn, accompanied by an unmarried sister, had lately come to reside in
the neighbourhood, having, upon the death of a former tenant, taken the
lease of a small farmhouse sheltered in the valley a mile beyond the
village, and that her favourite evening's walk was to the sea and back by
the steep footway leading past the Witches' Cauldron.

Had he followed the figure of Mivanway into the valley, he would have
known that out of sight of the Witches' Cauldron it took to running fast
till it reached a welcome door, and fell panting into the arms of another
figure that had hastened out to meet it.

"My dear," said the elder woman, "you are trembling like a leaf. What
has happened?"

"I have seen him," answered Mivanway.

"Seen whom?"

"Charles."

"Charles!" repeated the other, looking at Mivanway as though she thought
her mad.

"His spirit, I mean," explained Mivanway, in an awed voice. "It was
standing in the shadow of the rocks, in the exact spot where we first
met. It looked older and more careworn; but, oh! Margaret, so sad and
reproachful."

"My dear," said her sister, leading her in, "you are overwrought. I wish
we had never come back to this house."

"Oh! I was not frightened," answered Mivanway, "I have been expecting it
every evening. I am so glad it came. Perhaps it will come again, and I
can ask it to forgive me."

So next night Mivanway, though much against her sister's wishes and
advice, persisted in her usual walk, and Charles at the same twilight
hour started from the inn.

Again Mivanway saw him standing in the shadow of the rocks. Charles had
made up his mind that if the thing happened again he would speak, but
when the silent figure of Mivanway, clothed in the fading light, stopped
and gazed at him, his will failed him.

That it was the spirit of Mivanway standing before him he had not the
faintest doubt. One may dismiss other people's ghosts as the phantasies
of a weak brain, but one knows one's own to be realities, and Charles for
the last five years had mingled with a people whose dead dwell about
them. Once,