“Guilty?” I repeated. “Why, the man was acquitted by the jury, with the full approval of the judge! What call you possibly mean?”
“There are circumstances connected with that Trial,” my brother answered, “which were never communicated to the judge or the jury—which were never so much as hinted or whispered in court. I know them—of my own knowledge, by my own personal experience. They are very sad, very strange, very terrible. I have mentioned them to no mortal creature. I have done my best to forget them. You—quite innocently—have brought them back to my mind. They oppress, they distress me. I wish I had found you reading any book in your library, except that book!”
My curiosity was now strongly excited. I spoke out plainly.
“Surely,” I suggested, “you might tell your brother what you are unwilling to mention to persons less nearly related to you. We have followed different professions, and have lived in different countries, since we were boys at school. But you know you can trust me.”
He considered a little with himself.
“Yes,” he said. “I know I can trust you.” He waited a moment, and then he surprised me by a strange question.
“Do you believe,” he asked, “that the spirits of the dead can return to earth, and show themselves to the living?”
I answered cautiously—adopting as my own the words of a great English writer, touching the subject of ghosts.
“You ask me a question,” I said, “which, after five thousand years, is yet undecided. On that account alone, it is a question not to be trifled with.”
My reply seemed to satisfy him.