andthenitwas,“Takemetoher.”Sometimesitwasstaringand bewildered,andthenitwas,“Idon’tknowher.Idon’t understand.” Aftersuchimaginarydiscourse,thepassengerinhisfancy woulddig,anddig,dignow,withaspade,nowwithagreatkey, nowwithhishandstodigthiswretchedcreatureout.Gotoutat last,withearthhangingabouthisfaceandhair,hewould suddenlyfallawaytodust.Thepassengerwouldthenstartto himself,andlowerthewindow,togettherealityofmistandrain onhischeek. Yetevenwhenhiseyeswereopenedonthemistandrain,on themovingpatchoflightfromthelamps,andthehedgeatthe roadsideretreatingbyjerks,thenightshadowsoutsidethecoach wouldfallintothetrainofthenightshadowswithin.Thereal Banking-housebyTempleBar,therealbusinessofthepastday, therealstrongrooms,therealexpresssentafterhim,andthereal messagereturned,wouldallbethere.Outofthemidstofthem, theghostlyfacewouldrise,andhewouldaccostitagain. “Buriedhowlong?” “Almosteighteenyears.” “Ihopeyoucaretolive?” “Ican’tsay.” Digdigdiguntilanimpatientmovementfromoneofthe twopassengerswouldadmonishhimtopullupthewindow,dr