You don't recollect her, perhaps ?' 'Alas! poor maniac,' thought Mary, 'you have lost all count of time.
Fifty years to you in the confusion of your distraught brain, are but as yesterday.' 'No, of course not, of course not,' he muttered; 'how should she recollect my mother, who died while I was a boy?
Impossible.

That must be half a century ago.' 'Good evening to you,' said Mary, rising with a great effort, so strong was her feeling of being spellbound by the uncanny old man, 'I must go indoors now.' He stretched out his withered old hand, small, semi-transparent, with the blue veins showing darkly under the parchment-coloured skin, and grasped Mary's arm.
'Don't go,' he pleaded.

'I like your face, child; I like your voice--I like to have you here.

What do you mean by going indoors?
Where do you live ?' 'There,' said Mary, pointing to the dead wall which faced them.

'In the new part of Fellside House.