"And suppose I was," said Bunter. "Do you know what I had seen? Can you
conceive the sort of ghost that would haunt a man like me? Do you think
it was a ladyish, afternoon call, another-cup-of-tea-please apparition
that visits your Professor Cranks and that journalist chap you are
always talking about? No; I can't tell you what it was like. Every man
has his own ghosts. You couldn't conceive..."

Bunter stopped, out of breath; and Captain Johns remarked, with the glow
of inward satisfaction reflected in his tone:

"I've always thought you were the sort of man that was ready for
anything; from pitch-and-toss to wilful murder, as the saying goes.
Well, well! So you were terrified."

"I stepped back," said Bunter, curtly. "I don't remember anything else."

"The man at the wheel told me you went backwards as if something had hit
you."

"It was a sort of inward blow," explained Bunter. "Something too deep
for you, Captain Johns, to understand. Your life and mine haven't been
the same. Aren't you satisfied to see me converted?"

"And you can't tell me any more?" asked Captain Johns, anxiously.

"No, I can't. I wouldn't. It would be no use if I did. That sort of
experience must be gone through. Say I am being punished. Well, I take
my punishment, but talk of it I won't."