"I am what?" cried Brenton.
"You are what the material world calls dead, although in reality you have just begun to live."
"And who are you?" asked Brenton. "And how did you get in here?"
The other smiled.
"How did you get in here?" he said, repeating Brenton's words.
"I? Why, this is my own house."
"Was, you mean."
"I mean that it is. I am in my own house. This lady is my wife."
"Was," said the other.
"I do not understand you," cried Brenton, very much annoyed. "But, in any case, your presence and your remarks are out of place here."