“That again is false.  His passion for Lady Dominey was uninvited and unreciprocated.  Her only feeling concerning him was one of fear; that the whole countryside knows.  Your son was a lonely, a morose and an ill-living man, Mrs. Unthank.  If either of us had murder in our hearts, it was he, not I. And as for you,” Dominey went on, after a moment’s pause, “I think that you have had your revenge, Mrs. Unthank.  It was you who nursed my wife into insanity.  It was you who fed her with the horror of your son’s so-called spirit.  I think that if I had stayed away another two years, Lady Dominey would have been in a mad-house to-day.”

“I would to Heaven!” the woman cried, “that you’d rotted to death in Africa!”

“You carry your evil feelings far, Mrs. Unthank,” he replied.  “Take my advice.  Give up this foolish idea that the Black Wood is still the home of your son’s spirit.  Go and live on your annuity in another part of the country and forget.”

He moved across the room to throw open a window.  Her eyes followed him wonderingly.

“I have heard a rumour,” she said slowly; “there has been a word spoken here and there about you.  I’ve had my doubts sometimes.  I have them again every time you speak.  Are you really Everard Dominey?”

He swung around and faced her.

“Who else?”

“There’s one,” she went on, “has never believed it, and that’s her ladyship.  I’ve heard strange talk from the people who’ve come under your masterful ways.  You’re a harder man than the Everard Dominey I remember.  What if you should be an impostor?”

“You have only to prove that, Mrs. Unthank,” Dominey replied, “and a portion, at any rate, of the Black Wood may remain standing.  You will find it a little difficult, though.—­You must excuse my ringing the bell.  I see no object in asking you to remain longer.”

She rose unwillingly to her feet.  Her manner was sullen and unyielding.

“You are asking for the evil things,” she warned him.

“Be assured,” Dominey answered, “that if they come I shall know how to deal with them.”

Dominey found Rosamund and Doctor Harrison, who had walked over from the village, lingering on the terrace.  He welcomed the latter warmly.

“You are a godsend, Doctor,” he declared.  “I have been obliged to leave my port untasted for want of a companion.  You will excuse us for a moment Rosamund?”

She nodded pleasantly, and the doctor followed his host into the dining-room and took his seat at the table where the dessert still remained.

“Old woman threatening mischief?” the latter asked, with a keen glance from under his shaggy grey eyebrows.

“I think she means it,” Dominey replied, as he filled his guest’s glass.  “Personally,” he went on, after a moment’s pause, “the present situation is beginning to confirm an old suspicion of mine.  I am a hard and fast materialist, you know, Doctor, in certain matters, and I have not the slightest faith in the vindictive mother, terrified to death lest the razing of a wood of unwholesome character should turn out into the cold world the spirit of her angel son.”