"Are you a ghost?--I think not. I fancy you're material. But I haunt this place so constantly myself-- defying Jim Baker's charge of lead--that I should not be one whit surprised if your spirit actually did appear to keep me company. Do you believe in telepathy?"
"I don't know what it is."
"Do you believe that A, by dint of taking thought, can induce B to think of him? or--more--can draw, B to his side? I'm not sure that I believe; but it certainly is queer that I should have been thinking of you so strenuously just then, longing for you, and should turn and find you here. I thought you were over the hills and far away, haunting the shores of the Italian lakes."
"On Wednesday we came away from Como."
"On Wednesday? That's still stranger. It was on Wednesday my fever came to a head. I rushed down here, bent, if I could not be with you, on being where you had been. Since my arrival I've longed--with how great a longing--to use all sorts of conjurations which should bring you back to Exham; and, it seems, I conjured wiser than I knew."
"I left Como because I could no longer stay."
"From Exham? or from me? Speak sweetly; see how great my longing is."
"I had to return to say good-bye."
"To both of us? That's good; since our goodbyes will take so long in saying. Come and see what I have done." She went to the tree. There, newly cut in the bark, plain in the moonlight, were letters and figures. "Your initials and mine, joined by the date on which we met--beneath this tree. I brought my hunting knife out with me to do it--you see how sharp a point and edge it has." She saw that he held a great knife in his hand. "As I cut the letters you can believe I thought--I so thought of you with my whole heart and soul that you've come back to me from Como."
"Did I not say I've returned to say good-bye?"