told Everett that the millionaire was not his father, nor was he made to
understand that the mother and the home were not his by right of birth.
His bright mind and handsome appearance were the pride of his adopted
mother's life, and his rich father smiled only the more leniently when
the lad showed a rebellious spirit. In the child's dark, limpid eyes
slumbered primeval passions, needing but the dawn of manhood to break
forth, perhaps to destroy the soul beneath their reckless domination.

Everett was entertaining Ann and Horace Shellington at dinner, and after
the repast the youngsters betook themselves to the large square room
given to the young host's own use. Here were multitudinous playthings
and mechanical toys of all descriptions. For many minutes the children
had been too interested to note that the shadows were grown long and
that a somber gloom had settled down over the cemetery that lay just
beyond the windows.

Ann Shellington, a delicate little creature of eight, looked up
nervously. "Everett, draw down the curtain," she said. "It looks so
ghostly out there!"

Ann made a motion toward the window; but the boy did not obey her.

"Isn't that just like a girl, Horace?" he asked. "I'm not afraid of
ghosts. Dead people can't walk, can they, Horace?"

The other boy answered "No" thoughtfully, as he started a miniature
train across the length of the room.

"Then who is it that walks in the night out there?" insisted the girl.
"Lots of town people have seen it. It's a woman with shaggy hair, and