‘I don’t know where I am, Charley.’
‘That is my father’s rectory.’
He pointed to the house, which I had not yet observed. It lay quite dark in the moonlight, for not a window shone from within.
‘Don’t leave me, Charley.’
‘Leave you! I should think not, Wilfrid. I have been long enough without you already.’
‘Have you been long dead, then, Charley?’
‘Not very long. Yes, a long time. But, indeed, I don’t know. We don’t count time as we used to count it.—I want to go and see my father. It is long since I saw him, anyhow. Will you come?’
‘If you think I might—if you wish it,’ I said, for I had no great desire to see Mr Osborne. ‘Perhaps he won’t care to see me.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Charley, with another low silvery laugh. ‘Come along.’
We glided over the grass. A window stood a little open on the second floor. We floated up, entered, and stood by the bedside of Charley’s father. He lay in a sound sleep.