seemed past. I was just
about to ask her to become my wife when a brighter flash than all the
rest burst on us, and I saw--I saw, Sophy, standing in the gallery as
close to me as you are now--I saw--that man I told you about at Oxford;
and then this faintness came on me."

"Whom do you mean?" I said, not understanding what he spoke of, and
thinking for a moment he referred to someone else. "Did you see Mr.
Gaskell?"

"No, it was not he; but that dead man whom I saw rising from my wicker
chair the night you went away from Oxford."

You will perhaps smile at my weakness, my dear Edward, and indeed I had
at that time no justification for it; but I assure you that I have not
yet forgotten, and never shall forget, the impression of overwhelming
horror which his words produced upon me. It seemed as though a fear
which had hitherto stood vague and shadowy in the background, began now
to advance towards me, gathering more distinctness as it approached.
There was to me something morbidly terrible about the apparition of this
man at such a momentous crisis in my brother's life, and I at once
recognised that unknown form as being the shadow which was gradually
stealing between John and myself. Though I feigned incredulity as best
I might, and employed those arguments or platitudes which will always be
used on such occasions, urging that such a phantom could only exist in a
mind disordered by physical weakness, my brother was not deceived by my
words, and perceived in a moment that I did not even believe in them
myself.

"Dearest Sophy," he said, with a much calmer air, "let us put aside all
dissimulation. I _know_ that what I have to-night seen, and that what I
saw last summer at Oxford, are _not_ phantoms of my brain; and I believe
that you too in your inmost soul are convinced of this truth. Do not,
therefore, endeavour to persuade me to the contrary. If I am not to
believe the evidence of my senses, it were better at once to admit my
madness--and I know that I am not mad. Let us rather consider what such
an appearance can portend, and who the man is who is thus presented.
I cannot explain to you why this appearance inspires me with so great
a revulsion. I can only say that in its presence I seem to be brought
face to face with some abysmal and repellent wickedness. It is not that
the form he wears is hideous. Last night I saw him exactly as I saw him
at Oxford--his face waxen pale, with a sneering mouth, the same lofty
for