m "medium" with the gravest suspicion).
I am, on the contrary, a plain, practical, matter-of-fact woman, and
with the exception of this one occasion, never witnessed any psychic
phenomena.

The incident I am about to relate took place the autumn before last. I
was on a cycle tour in Scotland, and, making Pitlochry my temporary
headquarters, rode over one evening to view the historic Pass of
Killiecrankie. It was late when I arrived there, and the western sky
was one great splash of crimson and gold--such vivid colouring I had
never seen before and never have seen since. Indeed, I was so
entranced at the sublimity of the spectacle, that I perched myself on
a rock at the foot of one of the great cliffs that form the walls of
the Pass, and, throwing my head back, imagined myself in fairyland.
Lost, thus, in a delicious luxury, I paid no heed to the time, nor did
I think of stirring, until the dark shadows of the night fell across
my face. I then started up in a panic, and was about to pedal off in
hot haste, when a strange notion suddenly seized me: I had a latchkey,
plenty of sandwiches, a warm cape, why should I not camp out there
till early morning--I had long yearned to spend a night in the open,
now was my opportunity. The idea was no sooner conceived than put
into operation. Selecting the most comfortable-looking boulder I could
see, I scrambled on to the top of it, and, with my cloak drawn tightly
over my back and shoulders, commenced my vigil. The cold mountain air,
sweet with the perfume of gorse and heather, intoxicated me, and I
gradually sank into a heavenly torpor, from which I was abruptly
aroused by a dull boom, that I at once associated with distant
musketry. All was then still, still as the grave, and, on glancing at
the watch I wore strapped on my wrist, I saw it was two o'clock. A
species of nervous dread now laid hold of me, and a thousand and one
vague fancies, all the more distressing because of their vagueness,
oppressed and disconcerted me. Moreover, I was impressed for the first
time with the extraordinary solitude--solitude that seemed to belong
to a period far other than the present, and, as I glanced around at
the solitary pines and gleaming boulders, I more than half expected to
see the wild, ferocious face of some robber chief--some fierce yet
fascinating hero of Sir Walter Scott's--peering at me from behind
them. This feeling at length became so acute, that, in a panic of
fear--ridiculous, p