more than other people, that there are stories which I cannot pretend to understand.  My blood got a sort of chill in my veins at the idea that Roland should be a ghost-seer; for that generally means a hysterical temperament and weak health, and all that men most hate and fear for their children.  But that I should take up his ghost and right its wrongs, and save it from its trouble, was such a mission as was enough to confuse any man.  I did my best to console my boy without giving any promise of this astonishing kind; but he was too sharp for me:  he would have none of my caresses.  With sobs breaking in at intervals upon his voice, and the rain-drops hanging on his eyelids, he yet returned to the charge.

“It will be there now!—­it will be there all the night!  Oh, think, papa,—­think if it was me!  I can’t rest for thinking of it.  Don’t!” he cried, putting away my hand,—­“don’t!  You go and help it, and mother can take care of me.”

“But, Roland, what can I do?”

My boy opened his eyes, which were large with weakness and fever, and gave me a smile such, I think, as sick children only know the secret of.  “I was sure you would know as soon as you came.  I always said, Father will know.  And mother,” he cried, with a softening of repose upon his face, his limbs relaxing, his form sinking with a luxurious ease in his bed,—­“mother can come and take care of me.”

I called her, and saw him turn to her with the complete dependence of a child; and then I went away and left them, as perplexed a man as any in Scotland.  I must say, however, I had this consolation, that my mind was greatly eased about Roland.  He might be under a hallucination; but his head was clear enough, and I did not think him so ill as everybody else did.  The girls were astonished even at the ease with which I took it.  “How do you think he is?” they said in a breath, coming round me, laying hold of me.  “Not half so ill as I expected,” I said; “not very bad at all.”  “Oh, papa, you are a darling!” cried Agatha, kissing me, and crying upon my shoulder; while little Jeanie, who was as pale as Roland, clasped both her arms round mine, and could not speak at all.  I knew nothing about it, not half so much as Simson; but they believed in me:  they had a feeling that all would go right now.  God is very good to you when your children look to you like that.  It makes one humble, not proud.  I was not worthy of it; and then I recollected that I had to act the part of a father to Roland’s ghost,—­which made me almost laugh, though I might just as well have cried.  It was the strangest mission that ever was intrusted to mortal man.