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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

--By the way, does the ghost-lady feel the place all right?"
"I am not sure that I know what you mean; but I felt the grass with
her feet as I read, and the wind lifting my hair. I seemed to know
exactly how she felt!"
"Now tell me, were you ever a ghost?"
"No," she answered, looking in his face like a child--without even a
smile.
"Did you ever see a ghost?"
"No, never."
"Then how should you know how a ghost would feel?"
"I see! I cannot answer you."
Donal rose.
"I am indeed ashamed!" said lady Arctura.
"Ashamed of giving me the chance of proving myself a true man?"
"That, at least, is no longer necessary!"
"But I want my revenge. As a punishment for doubting one whom you
had so little ground for believing, you shall be compelled to see
the proof--that is, if you will do me the favour to wait here till I
come back. I shall not be long, though it is some distance to the
top of Baliol's tower."
"Davie told me your room was there: do you not find it cold? It must
be very lonely! I wonder why mistress Brookes put you there!"
Donal assured her he could not have had a place more to his mind,
and before she could well think he had reached the foot of his
stair, was back with a roll of papers, which he laid on the table.
"There!" he said, opening it out; "if you will take the trouble to
go over these, you may read the growth of the poem.


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