"It went like that--" He made a swift, outward gesture. "It went and it
never came back; and she didn't either--not ever. My idee is," he added,
"that there's evil things that mebbe are the ghost-shapes of living men
that want to do us harm; though, mebbe, too, they're the ghost-shapes of
men that's dead, but that can't get on Over There. So they try to get
back to us here; and they can make life Hell while they're stalking us."
"I am sure you are right," she said.
She was thinking of the loathsome thing which haunted her room last
night. Was it the embodied second self of Jethro Fawe, doing the evil
that Jethro Fawe, the visible corporeal man, wished to do? She
shuddered, then bent her head and fixed her mind on Ingolby, whose house
was not far away. She felt strangely, miserably alone this morning. She
was in that fluttering state which follows a girl's discovery that she is
a woman, and the feeling dawns that she must complete herself by joining
her own life with the life of another.
She showed no agitation, but her repression gave an almost statuesque
character to her face and figure. The adventurous nature of her early
life had given her a power to meet shock and danger with coolness, and
though the news of Ingolby's tragedy had seemed to freeze the vital
forces in her, and all the world became blank for a moment, she had
controlled herself and had set forth to go to him, come what might.
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