The Ghost of Guir House

"Devilish strange letter!" said Henley, turning the sheet over in an

effort to identify the writer. But it was useless. Dorothy Guir was

as complete a myth as the individual for whom her letter was

intended. Oddly enough, the man's last name, as well as the initial

of his first, were the same as his own; but whether the P. stood for

Peter, Paul, or Philip, Mr. Henley knew not, the only evident fact

being that the letter was not intended for himself.

Reading the mysterious communication once more, the young man smiled.

Who was Dorothy Guir? Of course she was Dorothy Guir, but what was

she like? At one moment he pictured her as a charming girl, where

curls, giggles, and blushes were strangely intermingled with

moonlight walks, rope ladders, and elopements. At the next, as some

monstrous female agitator; a leader of Anarchists and Nihilistic

organizations, loaded with insurrectionary documents for the

destruction of society. But the author was inclined to playfulness;

incompatible with such a character. He preferred the former picture,

and throwing back his head while watching the smoke from his

cigarette curl upward toward the ceiling, Mr. Paul Henley suddenly

became convulsed with laughter. He had conceived the idea of

impersonating the original Henley, the man for whom the letter had

been written. The more he considered the scheme, the more fascinating

it became. The girl, if girl she were, confessed to never having met

the man; she would therefore be the more easily deceived. But she was

expecting him daily, and should not be disappointed. Love of

adventure invested the project with an irresistible charm, and Mr.

Henley determined to undertake the journey and play the part for all

he was worth. It is true that visions of embarrassing complications

occasionally presented themselves, but were dismissed as trifles

unworthy of consideration.

It was still early in October, while Miss Guir's communication had

been dated nearly three weeks before. Had she kept her word? Had she

driven to the station every day during those weeks? Mr. Henley jumped

down from the table, exclaiming: "Yes, Miss Dorothy, I will be with you at once, or as soon as the

southern express can carry me." A moment later he added: "But I shall

glance out of the car window first, and if I don't like your looks,

or if you are not on hand, why in that event I shall simply continue

my journey. See?"

But another question presented itself. Where was Guir Station? The

lady had mentioned neither county nor county town, evidently taking

it for granted that the right Henley knew all about it, which he

doubtless did; but, since he was dead, it was awkward to consult him,

especially about a matter which was manifestly a private affair of

his own. But where was Guir? In all the vast State of Virginia, how

was he to discover an insignificant station, doubtless unknown to New

York ticket agents, and perhaps not even familiar to those living

within twenty miles of it? Paul opened the atlas at the "Old

Dominion," and threw it down again in disgust. "A map of the infernal

regions would be as useful," he declared. However important Guir

might be to the Guirs, it was clearly of no importance to the world.

But the following day the Postal Guide revealed the secret, and the

railway officials confirmed and located it. Guir was situated in a

remote part of the State, upon an obscure road, far removed from any

of the trunk lines. Mr. Henley purchased his ticket, resolved to take

the first train for this terra incognita of Virginia.