These vitriolic layers actively denied, will
fuse and disappear in the stream of gentle, tolerant sympathy which is
love. For each member, worthy of the name, loves the world, and all
creeds go into the melting-pot; Mabel, too, if she joins them out of
real conviction, will find salvation--"

"Thinking, I know, is of the first importance," I objected, "but don't
you, perhaps, exaggerate the power of feeling and emotion which in
religion are au fond always hysterical?" "What is the world," she told me, "but thinking and feeling? An
individual's world is entirely what that individual thinks and believes
--interpretation. There is no other. And unless he really thinks and
really believes, he has no permanent world at all. I grant that few
people think, and still fewer believe, and that most take ready-made
suits and make them do. Only the strong make their own things; the
lesser fry, Mabel among them, are merely swept up into what has been
manufactured for them. They get along somehow. You and I have made for
ourselves, Mabel has not. She is a nonentity, and when her belief is
taken from her, she goes with it." It was not in me just then to criticize the evasion, or pick out the
sophistry from the truth. I merely waited for her to continue. "None of us have Truth, my dear Frances," I ventured presently, seeing
that she kept silent. "Precisely," she answered, "but most of us have beliefs. And what one
believes and thinks affects the world at large. Consider the legacy of
hatred and cruelty involved in the doctrines men have built into their
creeds where the sine qua non of salvation is absolute acceptance of one
particular set of views or else perishing everlastingly--for only by
repudiating history can they disavow it--"

"You're not quite accurate," I put in. "Not all the creeds teach
damnation, do they? Franklyn did, of course, but the others are a bit
modernized now surely?" "Trying to get out of it," she admitted, "perhaps they are, but
damnation of unbelievers--of most of the world, that is--is their rather
favorite idea if you talk with them." "I never have." She smiled. "But I have," she said significantly, "so, if you consider
what the various occupants of this house have so strongly held and
thought and believed, you need not be surprised that the influence they
have left behind them should be a dark and dreadful legacy. For thought,
you know, does leave--"

The opening of the door, to my great relief, interrupted her, as the
Grenadier led in the visitor to see the room. He bowed to both of us
with a brief word of apology, looked round him, and withdrew, and with
his departure the conversation between us came naturally to an end. I
followed him out. Neither of us in any case, I think, cared to argue
further. And, so far as I am aware, the curious history of The Towers ends here
too. There was no climax in the story sense. Nothing ever really
happened. We left next morning for London. I only know that the Society
in question took the house and have since occupied it to their entire
satisfaction, and that Mabel, who became a member shortly afterwards,
now stays there frequently when in need of repose from the arduous and
unselfish labors she took upon herself under its aegis. She dined with
us only the other night, here in our tiny Chelsea flat, and a jollier,
saner, more interesting and happy guest I could hardly wish for. She was
vital--in the best sense; the lay figure had come to life. I found it
difficult to believe she was the same woman whose fearful effigy had
floated down those dreary corridors and almost disappeared in the depths
of that atrocious Shadow. What her beliefs were now I was wise enough to leave unquestioned, and
Frances, to my great relief, kept the conversation well away from such
inappropriate topics. It was clear, however, that the woman had in
herself some secret source of joy, that she was now an aggressive,
positive force, sure of herself, and apparently afraid of nothing in
heaven or hell. She radiated something very like hope and courage about
her, and talked as though the world were a glorious place and everybody
in it kind and beautiful. Her optimism was certainly infectious. The Towers were mentioned only in passing. The name of Marsh came up--
not the Marsh, it so happened, but a name in some book that was being
discussed--and I was unable to restrain myself. Curiosity was too
strong. I threw out a casual enquiry Mabel could leave unanswered if she
wished. But there was no desire to avoid it. Her reply was frank and
smiling. "Would you believe it? She married," Mabel told me, though obviously
surprised that I remembered the housekeeper at all; "and is happy as the
day is long. She's found her right niche in life. A sergeant--"

"The army!" I ejaculated. "Salvation Army," she explained merrily. Frances exchanged a glance with me. I laughed too, for the information
took me by surprise. I cannot say why exactly, but I expected at least
to hear that the woman had met some dreadful end, not impossibly by
burning. "And The Towers, now called the Rest House," Mabel chattered on, "seems
to me the most peaceful and delightful spot in England--"

"Really," I said politely. "When I lived there in the old days--while you were there, perhaps,
though I won't be sure." Mabel went on, "the story got abroad that it was haunted. Wasn't it odd? A less likely place for a ghost I've never seen. Why, it had no
atmosphere at all." She said this to Frances, glancing up at me with a
smile that apparently had no hidden meaning. "Did you notice anything
queer about it when you were there?" This was plainly addressed to me. "I found it--er--difficult to settle down to anything," I said, after an
instant's hesitation. "I couldn't work there--"

"But I thought you wrote that wonderful book on the Deaf and Blind while
you stayed with me," she asked innocently. I stammered a little. "Oh no, not then. I only made a few notes--er--at
The Towers. My mind, oddly enough, refused to produce at all down there. But--why do you ask? Did anything--was anything supposed to happen
there?" She looked searchingly into my eyes a moment before she answered: