At the moment it occurred to me that
Hopkins must be either blind or drunk, for without hesitating in her
advance, she moved on the stranger, holding the huge hickory log out in
front of her. Then, before I could utter a sound or stretch out a hand
to stop her, I saw her walk straight through the gray figure and
carefully place the log on the andirons.
So she isn't real, after all, she is merely a phantom, I found myself
thinking, as I fled from the room, and hurried along the hall to the
staircase. She is only a ghost, and nobody believes in ghosts any
longer. She is something that I know doesn't exist, yet even, though she
can't possibly be, I can swear that I have seen her. My nerves were so
shaken by the discovery that as soon as I reached my room I sank in a
heap on the rug, and it was here that Hopkins found me a little later
when she came to bring me an extra blanket.
"You looked so upset I thought you might have seen something," she said.
"Did anything happen while you were in the room?"
"She was there all the time--every blessed minute. You walked right
through her when you put the log on the fire. Is it possible that you
didn't see her?"
"No, I didn't see anything out of the way." She was plainly frightened.
"Where was she standing?"
"On the hearthrug in front of Mr.
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