Now the two of them rode silently toward town, both lost in their own thoughts. Their way took them past the Delgado house. Roland looked up and saw Susan sitting in her window, a bright vision in the gray light of that fall morning. His heart leaped up and although he didn't know it then, it was how he would remember her most clearly forever after- lovely Susan, the girl in the window. So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives; they sit undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the corners of our eyes, if we see them at all. The idea that they have been waiting there for us rarely if ever crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in our footsteps and catching up, little by little.
What we have inherited from our fathers and mothers is not all that 'walks in us.' There are all sorts of dead ideas and lifeless old beliefs. They have no tangibility, but they haunt us all the same and we can not get rid of them. Whenever I take up a newspaper I seem to see Ghosts gliding between the lines. Ghosts must be all over the country, as thick as the sands of the sea.
Pale were your looks; and the rose in your tressesPaler of hue than the dreams we have lost;Who, then I said, is it sees or who guesses,Here in the hall, that I dance with a ghost?Gone! And the dance and the music are ended.Gone! And the rapture dies out of the skies.And, on my arm, in her elegance splendid,The woman of fashion smiles up in my eyes.Had I forgotten? and did you remember?You, who are dead, whom I cannot forget;You, for whose sake all my heart is an emberCovered with ashes of dreams and regret.