At that supreme moment, the influence of his scornful dislike to every species of superstition made me “hedge,” and falter, in articulating, “If there is such a thing as a ghost, I have seen one!”
Before I could utter another sound he had caught up the lamp and was gone. Excited, and almost blind and dumb as I was, I experienced a new sinking of heart as I heard him draw back the bolt of the door through which the Thing had passed, without unclosing it. He explored the whole house, my mother and I sitting, silent, and listening to his swift tramp upon floor and stairs. In a few minutes the search was over.
He was perfectly calm in returning to us.
“There is nobody in the house who has not a right to be here. And nobody awake except ourselves.”
Setting down the lamp, he put his hand on my head—his own, and almost only, form of caress.
“Now, daughter, try and tell us what you think you saw?”
Grateful for the unlooked-for gentleness, I rallied to tell the story simply and without excitement. When I had finished, he made no immediate reply, and I looked up timidly.
“I really saw it, father, just as I have said! At least, I believe I did!”
“I know it, my child. But we will talk no more of it to-night. I will go to your room with you.”