For reply the “Brother Man” raised his hand almost as if in benediction.  And they left him to his rest.

CHAPTER XII.

In the morning Philip knocked at his guest’s door to waken him for breakfast.  Not a sound could be heard within.  He waited a little while and then knocked again.  It was as still as before.  He opened the door softly and looked in.

To his amazement there was no one there.  The bed was made up neatly, everything in the room was in its place, but the strange being who had called himself “Brother Man” was gone.

Philip exclaimed, and his wife came in.

“So our queer guest has flown!  He must have been very still about it; I heard no noise.  Where do you suppose he is?  And who do you suppose he is?”

“Are you sure there ever was such a person, Philip?  Don’t you think you dreamed all that about the ’Brother Man’?” Mrs. Strong had not quite forgiven Philip for his sceptical questioning of the reality of the man with the lantern who had driven the knife into the desk.

“Yes, it’s your turn now, Sarah.  Well, if our Brother Man was a dream he was the most curious dream this family ever had.  And if he was crazy he was the most remarkable insane person I ever saw.”

“Of course he was crazy.  All that he said about our living so extravagantly.”

“Do you think he was crazy in that particular?” asked Philip, in a strange voice.  His wife noticed it at the time, but its true significance did not become real to her until afterward.  He went to the front door and found it was unlocked.  Evidently the guest had gone out that way.  The heavy storm of the night had covered up any possible signs of footsteps.  It was still snowing furiously.

He went into his study for the forenoon as usual, but he did very little writing.  His wife could hear him pacing the floor restlessly.

About ten o’clock he came downstairs and declared his intention of going out into the storm to see if he couldn’t settle down to work better.

He went out and did not return until the middle of the afternoon.  Mrs. Strong was a little alarmed.

“Where have you been all this time, Philip?—­in this terrible storm, too!  You are a monument of snow.  Stand out here in the kitchen while I sweep you off.”

Philip obediently stood still while his wife walked around him with a broom, and good-naturedly submitted to being swept down, “as if I were being worked into shape for a snow man,” he said.

“Where have you been?  Give an account of yourself.”

“I have been seeing how some other people live.  Sarah, the Brother Man was not so very crazy, after all.  He has more than half converted me.”

“Did you find out anything about him?”

“Yes, several of the older citizens here recognized my description of him.  They say he is harmless and has quite a history; was once a wealthy mill-owner in Clinton.  He wanders about the country, living with any one who will take him in.  It is a queer case; I must find out more about him.  But I’m hungry; can I have a bite of something?”