The Last Tenant. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

a dish of which I was very fond-a tongue stewed with raisins-I ate very little.

      "No appetite, Ned?" said Bob.

      I shook my head gloomily.

      "He is out of sorts, Mr. Millet," said my wife, "and I am delighted you are here to cheer him up. He has me to thank for his low spirits; it is all because of my stupid wish to leave the house in which we are as comfortable as we could reasonably hope to be. I have worried him to death, almost, dragging him about against his will-though he has never complained-from morning till night for I don't know how long past. He is not half the man he was; he doesn't eat well and he doesn't sleep well, and I am to blame for it."

      She was ready to cry with remorse, and I felt ashamed of myself for not having the strength to battle with the delusion which surely would not torture me forever.

      I patted her on the shoulder, and put on a more cheerful countenance. She brightened up instantly, and then Bob asked whether we had been to 79 Lamb's Terrace.

      "Yes, we have," said my wife, "and I am truly thankful that we got out of it safely."

      "Ah!" said Bob, lifting his eyes.

      "You were right, Mr. Millet," said my wife, "the house is haunted."

      "Oh," said Bob, "I only told you what I had heard. For my part, I don't even know where Lamb's Terrace is."

      "Take my advice, Mr. Millet, and don't try to know. The less you see of the place the better it will be for you."

      "Why?"

      "Because it is haunted," she replied with emphatic shakes of her head, "and I am much obliged to you for putting us on our guard."

      "Then you saw something?"

      My wife looked at me.

      "Tell him what you fancy you saw," I said.

      "It was not fancy," she rejoined; "I have been thinking over it during the day, and the more I think, the more I am convinced that I did see-what I saw."

      "I should like to hear about it," said Bob.

      "You shall."

      And she told him all; of our going over the house till we got to the room on the second floor, of my pulling the bell, of the sounds we had heard proceeding from the basement and approaching nearer and nearer till they were outside in the passage, of my locking the door, of the door opening of its own accord, and of the appearance on the threshold of the specter of a young girl, and, finally, of her fainting away.

      "It was only my obstinacy," she said, "that took us up to the top of the house. Edward was quite ready to leave it before we had been in the place two minutes, but I insisted upon going into all the rooms, and I was properly punished for it. I was frightened enough, goodness knows, before I fainted, for I was chilled all over by what I had already seen, and I ought to have been satisfied; but you know what women are, Mr. Millet, when they take a fancy into their heads."

      "There, Bob," said I, "there's a confession to make; not many women would say as much."

      Bob smiled, and said, "You are too hard on yourself. We are much of a muchness-men and women alike; there is nothing to choose between us."

      "You are very good to say so, Mr. Millet."

      "When you recovered from your faint," said Bob, "was the figure still there?"

      "No, it was gone."

      "And you did not see it again?"

      "No, thank God!"

      "Did you see it?" asked Bob, turning to me. "He says he didn't," said my wife, quickly replying for me, "but-"

      "But," I added, "she does not believe me."

      "How can I believe you," said my wife reproachfully, "when the very moment before I swooned away I saw your eyes almost starting out of your head with fright."

      "Oh, well," I said, "I suppose I have as much right to fancy things as you."

      "Of course you have, and it was very considerate of you to deny that you saw anything. He is the best husband in the world, Mr. Millet, and if he thinks I don't appreciate him he is mistaken."

      "Now, my dear," I said soothingly, "you know I don't think anything of the sort; if I am the best husband in the world, so are you the best wife in the world. What do you say to our going in for the flitch of bacon?"

      "It is all very well to make a laughing matter of it," said my wife seriously. "I will ask Mr. Millet this plain question. He may say, like you, that it is all fancy; but pray how does he account for the opening of a locked door?"

      "I told you," I interposed before Bob could speak, "that I must have been mistaken in supposing I had locked it."

      "Very good. But the door was shut if it was not locked."

      "I don't deny that it was."

      "How did it come open, then?"

      "I told you that, too," I replied. "The wind."

      "What wind?"

      "The wind from the window through the broken panes."

      She turned to Bob triumphantly. "What do you think of that, Mr. Millet? When we go into the room the door slams, and my husband says it slams because of the wind through the window. I accept that as reasonable, but is it reasonable to suppose that the same wind that blows a door shut from the inside of a room should blow it open from the outside?"

      "Well, no," said Bob, with a sly look at me; "I should say it was not reasonable."

      I was fairly caught. My wife's logic was too much for me.

      "And now," said she, "as I know it will worry him if I go on talking about it, I will leave you two gentlemen together while I go and look after some affairs. You will spend the evening with us, Mr. Millet?"

      "With much pleasure," he said.

      "And I beg your pardon," she said, "for having misjudged you. I did think that you and my husband were in a plot together to set me against the house, and I did not think it was nice behavior in a gentleman who was paying me his first visit. I told my husband as much last night before we went to sleep, and he stood up for you like the true friend he is; and now I am glad to say I have found out my mistake. I hope you will forgive me.

      "There is nothing to forgive," said Bob, in the kindest and gentlest tone imaginable. "All that you have said and thought and done was most fair and reasonable, and I ought to be thankful for the little misunderstanding, if it has given you a better opinion of me."

      CHAPTER VIII.

      I TAKE BOB INTO MY CONFIDENCE

      "A sensible woman," said Bob, gazing after my wife; and then, in a more serious tone, "Ned, is it all true?"

      "Every word of it."

      "About the phantom of the girl?"

      "Yes, about the phantom of the girl. Frightfully, horribly true!"

      "You saw it?"

      "I did; and I would swear it was no trick of imagination."

      "And the door opened, as your wife has described?"

      "It did, and I will swear that that was no trick of the imagination."

      We had moved our chairs and were sitting by the open window, from which stretched the bright prospect of the flowers in my garden; there was a space of some three feet between our chairs as we sat facing each other, and on this space lay the skeleton cat.

      "There is something more," I said. "Look down here." I pointed to the cat.

      "Well? I am looking."

      "What do you see?"

      "Nothing."

      "Absolutely nothing?"

      "Nothing, except the carpet."

      "Bob, would you judge me to be a man possessed of a fair amount of common sense?"

      "Certainly."

      "Not likely to give way to fads and fancies?"

      "Certainly."

      "Caring,