fter I was in bed. I
had been asleep some time and then I woke suddenly. There is an old
wheel-back chair there--the only old thing in the room. It is standing
facing the fire as it must have stood the night I was killed. The fire
was burning brightly, the pattern of the back of the chair was thrown in
shadow across the ceiling. Now the night I was murdered the conditions
were exactly the same, so directly I saw that pattern on the ceiling I
remembered the whole thing. I was not dreaming, don't think it, I was
not. What happened that night was this: I was lying in bed counting the
parts of the back of that chair in shadow on the ceiling. I probably
could not get to sleep: you know the sort of thing, count up to a
thousand and remember in the morning where you got to. Well, I was
counting those pieces when suddenly they were obliterated, the whole
back became a shadow, someone was sitting in the chair. Now, surely you
understand that directly I saw the shadow of that chair on the ceiling
to-night I realized that I had not a moment to lose. At any moment that
same person might come back to that same chair and escape would be
impossible. I slipped from my bed as quickly as I could and ran
downstairs.'

"'But were you not afraid,' I asked,'downstairs?'

"'That she might follow me? It was a woman, you know. No, I don't think
I was. She does not belong downstairs. Anyhow she didn't.'

"'No,' I said. 'No.'

"My voice must have been out of control, for he caught me up at once.

"'You don't mean to say you saw her?' he said vehemently.

"'Oh, no.'

"'You felt her?'

"'She passed me as I came downstairs,' I said.

"'What can I have done to her that she follows me so?' He buried his
face in his hands as though searching for an answer to his thought.
Suddenly he looked up and stared at me.

"'Where had I got to? Oh yes, the murder. I can remember it all
distinctly.

"'You can imagine how startled I was to see that shadow in the
chair--startled, you know, but not really frightened. I leaned up in bed
and looked at the chair, and sure enough a woman was sitting in it--a
young woman. I watched her with a profound interest until she began to
turn in her chair, as I felt, to look at me; when she did that I shrank
back in bed. I dared not meet her eyes. She might not have had eyes, she
might not have had a face. You know the sort of pictures that one sees
when one glances back at all one's soul has ever thought.

"'I got