"I did, indeed," answered Paul, "and with a clearness that makes it
the more difficult to comprehend; still, of course, I know that the
vision of Levachan was a deception, while this is real!"

"And because you are convinced that a majority of men would see this
as you see it. What if it should be proved that you are wrong?"

"That would be impossible," answered Paul.

"You think so, indeed," answered the old man with a strange look in
his eyes; "and yet, if you will look above you and about you, you
will see for the first time the way in which this old house looks to
the great majority of mankind--indeed, to such a vast majority, Mr.
Henley--that your individual testimony to the contrary would be
regarded as the ravings of a madman. Look!"

Paul lifted his eyes. The roof was gone, and the stars shone down
upon him through the open space. About him were rough walls of
crumbling stone, rapidly falling to decay; there were no pictures,
there were no stairs with their uncanny portraits, there was no great
open fire-place with the blazing logs, nor hanging lamp, nor cheery
pew--all--all was gone--and nothing but ruin and decay remained, save
some bunches of ivy which had climbed above the edge of the tottering
wall, outlined dimly in the moonlight. The floor had rotted away, and
dank grass and bushes and heaps of stone had filled its place. A pool
of water in a distant corner reflected the sky and a star or two, and
the dismal croaking of a frog was the only sound he heard. Through
the open casements wild vines and stunted trees had thrust their
boughs, and beyond were the pines and hemlocks. Paul stood erect, and