markably Dame Dermody's faith in the purity of
the tie that united us as kindred spirits was justified by the result.

It was only when my unknown Mary was parted from Van Brandt--in
other words, it was only when she was a pure spirit--that she felt my
influence over her as a refining influence on her life, and that the
apparition of her communicated with me in the visible and perfect
likeness of herself. On my side, when was it that I dreamed of her
(as in Scotland), or felt the mysterious warning of her presence in my
waking moments (as in Shetland)? Always at the time when my heart opened
most tenderly toward her and toward others--when my mind was most free
from the bitter doubts, the self-seeking aspirations, which degrade the
divinity within us. Then, and then only, my sympathy with her was the
perfect sympathy which holds its fidelity unassailable by the chances
and changes, the delusions and temptations, of mortal life.

I am writing prematurely of the time when the light came to me. My
narrative must return to the time when I was still walking in darkness.

Absorbed in watching over the closing days of my mother's life, I found
in the performance of this sacred duty my only consolation under the
overthrow of my last hope of marriage with Mrs. Van Brandt. By slow
degrees my mother felt the reviving influences of a quiet life and a
soft, pure air. The improvement in her health could, as I but too well
knew, be only an improvement for a time. Still, it was a relief to see
her free from pain, and innocently happy in the presence of her son.
Excepting those hours of the day and night which were dedicated to
repose, I was never away from her. To this day I remember, with a
tenderness which attaches to no other memories of mine, the books that I
read to her, the sunny corner on the seashore where I sat with her, the
games of cards that we played together, the little trivial gossip that
amused her when she was strong enough for nothing else. These are my
imperishable relics; these are the deeds of my life that I shall love
best to look back on, when the all-infolding shadows of death are
closing round me.

In the hours when I was alone, my thoughts--occupying themselves mostly
among the persons and events of the past--wandered back, many and many a
time, to Shetland and Miss Dunross.

My haunting doubt as to what the black veil had really hidden from me
was no longer accompanied by a feeling of horror when it now