He made me no answer for a moment,
and I had to repeat my question before he
seemed to hear me. Then he started, and,
with a strange abruptness of manner,
replied:

"Nothing is the matter. What do yon
suppose is the matter?"

"You look pale," I said, " and you've
not been yourself all day. I'm sure there's
something wrong."

"I tell you there is nothing wrong,
wish you would leave me alone for a minute
or two. It's hard I can't be allowed to be
quiet in my own way," he answered, with
a roughness that surprised me.

I kept my astonishment to myself, and
turned away, saying:

"Very well. Have your own way. But
recollect we must start in half an hour, or
it will be getting late."

Our companions appeared to have no
curiosity as to anybody's movements, nor
did they seem to have missed either me or
Will. I found them reclining, oblivious of
all earthly things, with their pipes in their
mouths, and their straw hats tilted on to
their noses, and so evidently indisposed for
conversation that I felt it was of no use to
endeavour to arouse any interest in their
minds as to Will and his eccentricities.
Making the best of the situation, I joined
them, and was presently gazing dreamily
up at the bright blue sky through a grateful
screen of overhanging leaves, and watching
the smoke of my pipe as it floated off in
the calm air. By-and-by the sky became
dimmer, my pipe gradually dropped from
my lips, and I fell insensibly into a heavy
sleep.

I awoke presently with a start, and
disposed, as is the custom with most mid-day
sleepers, to declare I hadn't closed an eye.
The assertion was unnecessary. My
companions, who were lively enough now, were
busily engaged in a violent metaphysical
discussion, of the discursive nature suitable
to such an occasion, and were not even
disposed for bad jokes at my expense. The
subject immediately under treatment was
the engrossing one of ghosts and apparitions,
and the argument was warm. As I rose,
I saw Will Darton coming toward us along
the path, more like himself than when I
had left him by the river, but still with a
disturbed look upon his face. Knowing it
was time to start, I interrupted the eager
talkers.

"Now, you fellows, if you mean to get
to Marlow to-night, you must drop the
subject and take to your oars instead. You
can finish what you've got to say when you
get in."

"Very well," said little Jack Long, the
smallest and the most obstinate of the crew;
"I've no objection. But I must say that
of all the nonsense I ever heard, these two
men have been talking the worst. Fred
says he firmly believes in ghosts, although
he knows nothing about them except from
books; and the other lunatic knows a
fellow who knows another fellow whose
grandmother saw one, or something of that
sort. I don't believe in ghosts myself. I
never saw one, and I never saw anybody
else who had ever seen one; and what's
more, I don't believe that any man ever
was told of a ghost by the man who had
seen it. They're always at second hand."

Will Darton had stopped short as he
heard the beginning of this speech. His
face, pale before, became paler now; some
strange fear seemed to be looking from his
eyes, and it was evident he was much
disturbed. When the speaker ceased, Will
flushed, and, with an irritable excitement
very unlike his usual self, interrupted the
laughing protests of Jack's antagonists by
crying, as he hastily advanced:

"You! You don't believe in ghosts.
You've never been told of a ghost by a
man who saw it. Good Heavens! Why
I——"

He hastily checked himself, the flush
faded from his cheek; once more he became
deadly pale.

"Holloa! holloa!" said Jack. " What's
the matter now? Are you the particular
friend of the spectral world? or is that
your polite way of intimating your belief
in ghosts? Here, you two, here's an ally
for you! But I shall be ready to tackle
you all three when we get to Marlow."

"And if you are going to stop talking
here much longer," I said, " we shall never
get to Marlow. Come along, let's be off!
Come, Will!"

He seemed to wake out of the same
curious abstracted state as he had been in
by the river side, and, taking my arm,
went mechanically with me towards the
boat.

"You'd better steer, Will," said little
Jack Long. "Don't look well, you see"
—to me—" and you, Charley, row stroke;
I'll go up to bow, and then I can see that
nobody shirks."

I took the stroke oar, and we started.
As we passed the end of the island, Will
looked nervously across the river; and as
we left Greenlauds behind and neared