here immediately."

The clergyman shook his head.

"I will say nothing at present," he answered. "But, believe me, a
thousand detectives cannot explain my son's death. I shall return
to this subject after the funeral, Sir Walter. But my conviction
grows that the reason of these things will never be revealed to the
eye of science. To the eye of faith alone we must trust the
explanation of what has happened. There are things concealed from
the wise and prudent--to be revealed unto babes."

That night the master of Chadlands, his nephew, and the priest
dined together, and Henry Lennox implored a privilege.

"I feel I owe it to poor Tom in a way," he said. "I beg that you
will let me spend the night in the Grey Room, Uncle Walter. I
would give my soul to clear this."

But his uncle refused with a curt shake of the head, and the
clergyman uttered a reproof.

"Do not speak so lightly," he said. "You use a common phrase and
a very objectionable phrase, young man. Do you rate your soul so
low that you would surrender it for the satisfaction of a morbid
craving? For that is all this amounts to. Not to such an inquirer
will my son's death reveal its secret."

"I have already received half-a-dozen letters from people offering
and wishing to spend a night in that accursed room," said Sir Walter.