“But I expressly intend to make you another visit.  Say, when shall it be?”

“I go off early in the morning, and I shall be on again at ten to-morrow night, sir.”

“I will come at eleven.”

He thanked me, and went out at the door with me.  “I’ll show my white light, sir,” he said, in his peculiar low voice, “till you have found the way up.  When you have found it, don’t call out!  And when you are at the top, don’t call out!”

His manner seemed to make the place strike colder to me, but I said no more than, “Very well.”

“And when you come down to-morrow night, don’t call out!  Let me ask you a parting question.  What made you cry, ’Halloa!  Below there!’ to-night?”

“Heaven knows,” said I.  “I cried something to that effect—­”

“Not to that effect, sir.  Those were the very words.  I know them well.”

“Admit those were the very words.  I said them, no doubt, because I saw you below.”

“For no other reason?”

“What other reason could I possibly have?”

“You had no feeling that they were conveyed to you in any supernatural way?”

“No.”

He wished me good-night, and held up his light.  I walked by the side of the down Line of rails (with a very disagreeable sensation of a train coming behind me) until I found the path.  It was easier to mount than to descend, and I got back to my inn without any adventure.

Punctual to my appointment, I placed my foot on the first notch of the zigzag next night, as the distant clocks were striking eleven.  He was waiting for me at the bottom, with his white light on.  “I have not called out,” I said, when we came close together; “may I speak now?” “By all means, sir.”  “Good-night, then, and here’s my hand.”  “Good-night, sir, and here’s mine.”  With that we walked side by side to his box, entered it, closed the door, and sat down by the fire.

“I have made up my mind, sir,” he began, bending forward as soon as we were seated, and speaking in a tone but a little above a whisper, “that you shall not have to ask me twice what troubles me.  I took you for some one else yesterday evening.  That troubles me.”

“That mistake?”

“No.  That some one else.”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Like me?”

“I don’t know.  I never saw the face.  The left arm is across the face, and the right arm is waved,—­violently waved.  This way.”

I followed his action with my eyes, and it was the action of an arm gesticulating, with the utmost passion and vehemence, “For God’s sake, clear the way!”