“He’s come back, Thalassa—he’s come back.”
“He? Who?”
“You know whom I mean well enough. It was—” His voice sank suddenly, and he whispered a name in the man’s ear.
Thalassa’s brown cheek paled slightly, but he answered quickly and roughly—
“What nonsense are you talking now? How can he have come back? How often must I tell you that he is dead?”
“You mean that you thought he was dead, Thalassa. But he is alive.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard him.”
“Heard him! What do you mean?”
“I heard his footsteps pattering around the house, as clear and distinct as that night on that hellish island. Shall I ever forget the sound of his footsteps then, as he raced over the rocks, looking back at us with his wild eyes, and the blood streaming down his face—running and running until he stumbled and fell? The sound of his running footsteps as he clattered over the rocks have haunted me day and night ever since. I heard them again to-night.”