"IT WAS BARTON'S FACE—HIS EYES FIXED ON HIS WIFE."
"Mr. Campbell," said—or, rather, gasped—the woman at my side, "was he—was he peering at me round the door?"
"Well, I—I thought so," I stammered.
"He always does that now," she whispered, "and it frightens me, Mr. Campbell—it frightens me. What does it mean?"
What on earth was I to say? Here was Barton apparently taking the place of his departed ghastly visitor; but how was I to explain this to his wife, who had never heard, and now most certainly must never hear, of her husband's hideous delusion. I was relieved from my difficulty by Barton himself, who now entered the room with the same boisterously cheerful manner that I had noticed before.
"Well, I hope you're not bored, Campbell," he cried.
"Very much the reverse," said I, with perfect truth.
"I'm afraid that isn't true," said Mrs. Barton; "I'm very dull to-night, but Mr. Campbell must excuse me—my head is aching terribly, and I really think I must go to bed."
Of course, I expressed my sympathy and wished her good-night; but as I opened the door for her she whispered, "For God's sake stay as long as you can. Good-night."