The girl bent forward in the flowing light. "I know you," she replied softly. "Please go; there’s nothing you can do."
"You’ve got to come back!" It escaped LaFarge before he could prevent it.
The moonlit figure above drew into shadow, so there was no identity, only a voice. "I’m not your son any more," it said. "We should never have come to town."
"Anna‘s waiting at the landing!"
"I’m sorry," said the quiet voice. "But what can I do? I’m happy here, I’m loved, even as you loved me. I’am what I am, and I take what can be taken; it‘s too late now, they’ve caught me."
"But Anna, the shock to her. Think of that."
"The thoughts are too strong in this house; it‘s like being imprisoned. I can't change myself back."
"You are Tom, you were Tom, weren’t you? You aren‘t joking with an old man, you ‘re not really Lavinia
Spaulding?"
"I’m not anyone, I’m just myself whatever I am, I am something, and now I’m something you can‘t help."
"You‘re not safe in the town. It‘s better out on the canal where no one can hurt you," pleaded the old man.
"That‘s true." The voice hesitated. "But I must consider these people now. How would they feel if in the morning, I was gone again, this time for good? Anyway, the mother knows what I am; she guessed, even as you did. If you can‘t have the reality, a dream is just as good. Perhaps I’m not their dead one back, but I’m something almost better to them; an ideal shaped by their minds. I have a choice of hurting them or your wife."
"They’re a family of five. They can stand your loss better!"