An uncomfortable shudder ran through Courtney's veins; the Doctor's manner seemed peculiar and uncanny.
"By Jove! I hope not!" he involuntarily exclaimed. "The orthodox ghost is an infinitely better arrangement. One at least knows what to expect. But a 'scientific' ghost that moves about in society, resembling ourselves in every respect, appearing to be actually human and yet having no humanity at all in its composition, is a terrific notion indeed! You don't mean to say you believe in the possibility of such an appalling creature?"
"I not only believe it," answered the Doctor composedly, "I know it!"
Here the band crashed out "God save the Queen," which, as a witty Italian once remarked, is the De Profundis of every English festivity.
"But--God bless my soul!" began Courtney ...
"No, don't say that!" urged the Doctor. "Say 'God save the Queen.' It's more British."
"Bother 'God save the Queen,'" exclaimed Courtney impatiently.-- "Look here, you don't mean it seriously, do you?"
"I always mean everything seriously," said Dr. Dean,--"even my jokes."
"Now come, no nonsense, Doctor," and Courtney, taking his arm, led him towards one of the windows opening out to the moonlit garden,- -"can you, as an honest man, assure me in sober earnest that there are 'scientific ghosts' of the nature you describe?"
The little Doctor surveyed the scenery, glanced up at the moon, and then at his companion's pleasant but not very intelligent face.
"I would rather not discuss the matter," he said at last, with some brusqueness. "There are certain subjects connected with psychic phenomena on which it is best to be silent; besides, what interest can such things have for you? You are a sportsman,--keep to your big game, and leave ghost-hunting to me."
"That is not a fair answer to my question," said Courtney, "I'm sure I don't want to interfere with your researches in any way; I only want to know if it is a fact that ghosts exist, and that they are really of such a nature as to deserve the term 'scientific.'"
Dr. Dean was silent a moment. Then, stretching out his small, thin hand, he pointed to the clear sky, where the stars were almost lost to sight in the brilliance of the moon.
"Look out there!" he said, his voice thrilling with sudden and solemn fervor. "There in the limitless ether move millions of universes--vast creations which our finite brains cannot estimate without reeling,--enormous forces always at work, in the mighty movements of which our earth is nothing more than a grain of sand. Yet far more marvellous than their size or number is the mathematical exactitude of their proportions,--the minute perfection of their balance,--the exquisite precision with which every one part is fitted to another part, not a pin's point awry, not a hair's breadth astray. Well, the same exactitude which rules the formation and working of Matter controls the formation and working of Spirit; and this is why I know that ghosts exist, and, moreover, that we are COMPELLED by the laws of the phenomena surrounding us to meet them every day."