As she sewed she found herself looking up moment by moment at the
window. It was not long before she saw the same figure there again,
close now, and in the full light. Her hands dropped nerveless upon her
knee; she sat gazing with strained whitened face. The outline of the
clothes she associated with the thought of Toyner, but from under the
dark hat her father's face looked at her. Not the face of a man she
thought, but the face of a spirit, as white as if it were lifeless, as
haggard as if it were dead, but with blazing life in the eyeballs and a
line like red fire round their rims. In a moment it was gone again.

Ann started up possessed with the desire to prove the ghostly visitant
material; passing through the door, she fled outside with her lamp.
Whatever had been there had withdrawn itself more quickly than she had
come to seek it.

She felt convinced now that her father was dead; she fell to imagining
all the ways in which the tragic end might have come. No thought that
came to her was satisfactory. What had Bart done? Why had his form
seemed to her so inextricably confused with the form of her father at
the moment of the apparition? The recognition of a man or his garments,
although the result of observation, does not usually carry with it any
consciousness of the details that we have observed; and she did not know
now what it was that had made her think of Toyner so strongly.

The next morning, as the day was beginning to wear on, one of the
Fentown men put his head into Ann's door.

"Do you happen to know where Toyner is?" he asked.