"Upon each canvas he depicted the awful countenance which fact and
fancy had imprinted upon his brain. Guir painted not only what he
saw, but what he imagined he saw--dreadful faces, loaded with torture
and despair. When completed, he hung them upon the walls of the room,
and then with his own hands bricked up the entrance from within,
having first carefully replaced and bolted the door. When Guir had
thus entombed himself, he lay down again upon the floor, and then,
still a madman, opened a vein in his wrist. The letting of blood may
have sobered him or restored his mental equilibrium; for suddenly,
with a wild change in his feelings, he bounded to his feet and
repented. Again he was in darkness, and could not guess how much time
had elapsed since his fatal act. Staggering to the closed doorway, he
endeavored to tear away the bricks he had so recently placed there,
but the mortar was hardening fast, and he was unable to find his
trowel. Groping frantically along the floor, he searched in vain for
some tool to open the vault in which he was buried, and then, with
the anguish of despair, dropped again upon the ground to await his
fate. Thus Guir died, in an agony of remorse, and with the intensest
desire to live."
Ah Ben stopped suddenly, and fixed his eyes upon Henley, as if trying
to read his thoughts.
"There is one thing in that story that strikes me as very peculiar,"
observed Paul, returning his host's look with interest.
"And what is that?" answered the old man, his eyes still fixed on
Henley's face.
"The fact that you are able to repeat with such circumstantial detail
the feelings and actions of a man who died under such peculiar
conditions, and quite alone."
"It might indeed appear strange to you, Mr. Henley, but my
familiarity with the case enables me to speak with knowledge and
accuracy."
"And would you mind telling me how that is possible?" inquired Paul.
"Because I am the man Guir himself; and I have lived on through such
ages of agony that I have no longer the will or desire to appear
other than as the ancient wreck before you."
Paul started.
"Do you mean to tell me then that I am talking to a ghost?" he cried
in dismay.
"As you please, Mr. Henley; but ghosts are not so different from
ordinary people--that is, when they have become materialized. I have
just now shown you the real condition of this old house, or rather
the way in which the majority of men see it. I do not hesitate,
therefore, to show you the ghost that haunts it; nor do I object to
explaining the dreadful cause of the haunting, or a little of the
philosophy of hauntings in general."