The Ghost of Guir House

When Ah Ben had finished his coffee, the three retired to the great

entrance hall, where the fire was burning brightly, and the hanging

lamp lending its uncertain aid to the illumination of the curious old

apartment. Ah Ben produced a couple of long-stemmed pipes, one of

which he handed to Paul, with a great leather pouch of leaf tobacco

which he showed his guest how to prepare for smoking. They seated

themselves in the pew before the fire, Dorothy nearest the hearth,

while Paul placed himself upon the lounge opposite.

A great stillness pervaded the house, and Mr. Henley could not help

wondering again if there were not other members of the establishment.

Dorothy was staring into the fire, her thoughts far away, while Ah

Ben smoked his pipe in silence. "Perhaps they have theories about

digestion," Paul reflected, while he pulled at his long Ti-ti stem,

and watched the meditative couple before him. The firelight played

upon Ah Ben's white moustache and swarthy features, and the colored

handkerchief upon his head, and set the long thin fingers all of a

tremble upon the pipe-stem, as if manipulating the stops of a flute.

It danced over Dorothy's gown in a dazzling sheen of white, and

flashed upon her jeweled hands in colored sparks of green and gold

and purple and red, and lit up her face and hair with the soft warm

tints of a Rubens. Such a picture did the twain combine to make; they

looked indeed as if they might have stepped from the canvas of some

old master and come for a brief season to taste the joys of flesh and

blood and life.

The outer regions of the hall were in darkness, the ancient lamp

barely revealing the oddities of brush, chisel, and structure, that

combined to make the most remarkable living-room that Henley had ever

seen. The decaying portraits, the singular carvings and peculiar

furniture, now only revealed themselves by suggestion in the faint

illumination of the lamp and uncertain flicker of the fire.

But what were these people, Dorothy and Ah Ben, to each other? It was

out of the question that they could be husband and wife--it seemed

equally so that they could be father and daughter. Paul searched the

faces of each for traces of similiarity, but there were none. Their

manner to each other, the girl's mode of addressing the man, all

indicated the absence of kinship. Yes, Henley felt quite certain that

Ah Ben and Dorothy Guir were neither related nor connected, and that

they were never likely to become so.

From time to time the old man would arise to mend the fire, and a

quiet conversation upon indifferent topics ensued, Dorothy uttering a

few words occasionally, in a dreamy voice, with her head propped upon

a cushion in the corner. At last she failed to answer when spoken to;

evidently she had fallen asleep.