‘Very well,’ I answered. ‘You are dead, I confess. But now, look you here.’
I went to a red rose-bush which stood at some distance, blanched in the moon, set my foot on the top of it, and made as if I would ascend, expecting to crush it, roses and all, to the ground. But behold! I was standing on my red rose opposite Charley on his white.
‘I told you so,’ he cried, across the moonlight, and his voice sounded as if it came from the moon far away.
‘Oh Charley!’ I cried, ‘I’m so frightened!’
‘What are you frightened at?’
‘At you. You’re dead, you know.’
‘It is a good thing, Wilfrid,’ he rejoined, in a tone of some reproach, ‘that I am not frightened at you for the same reason; for what would happen then?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose you would go away and leave me alone in this ghostly light.’
‘If I were frightened at you as you are at me, we should not be able to see each other at all. If you take courage the light will grow.’
‘Don’t leave me, Charley,’ I cried, and flung myself from my tree towards his. I found myself floating, half reclined on the air. We met midway each in the other’s arms.