There was probably nothing supernatural, but--well, while a man is alone it is wisest to shut out all that has even the appearance of the supernatural from his house and from his mind.

So Trenholme argued, choosing the satirical fool of the Forest of Arden to keep him company.
"Now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content." Trenholme smiled.

He had actually so controlled his mind as to become lost in his book.
There was a sound as if of movement on the light snow near by and of hard breathing.

Trenholme's senses were all alert again now as he turned his head to listen.

When the moving figure had seemed so indifferent to his calls, what reason could it have now for seeking his door--unless, indeed, it were a dead man retracing his steps by some mysterious impulse, such as even the dead might feel?
Trenholme's heart beat low with the thought as he heard a heavy body bump clumsily against the baggage-room door and a hand fumble at its latch.