t myself
suddenly stifled with my haste, or from some cause, and, pausing (as we
used to say) to gather breath, I found that I was stricken back, and
fettered to the ground.

There was no wind. The night was perfectly still. Not a leaf quivered
on the topmost branch of the linden which tapped our chamber-window.
Yet a Power like a mighty rushing blast gainsaid me and smote me where
I was.

Not a step, though I writhed for it, not a breath nearer, though my
heart should break for it, could I take or make to reach her. This was
my doom. Within clasp of her dear arms, within sight of her sweet
face,--for there! while I stood struggling, I saw a woman's shadow rise
and stir upon the dimly lighted wall,--thus to be denied and bidden
back from her seemed to me more than heart could bear.

While I stood, quite unmanned by what had happened, incredulous of my
punishment, and yearning to her through the little distance, and
stretching out my hands toward her, and brokenly babbling her dear
name, she moved, and I saw her quite distinctly, even as I had seen her
that last time. She stood midway between the unlighted parlour and the
lighted library beyond. The drop-light with the scarlet shade blazed
behind her.

I noticed that to-night, as on that other night, the baby was not with
her; and I wondered why. She stood alone. She moved up and down the
room; she had a weary step. Her dress, I saw, was black, dead black.
Her white hands, clasped before her, shone with startling brilliancy
upon the sombre stuff she wore. Her lovely head was bent a little, and
she seemed to be gazing at me whom she could not see. Then I cried
with such a cry, it seemed as if the very living must needs hear:--

"Helen! Helen! _Helen_!"

But she stood quite still; leaning her pale face toward me, like some
listening creature that was stricken deaf.

The sight was more sorrowful than I could brave; for the first time
since I had died I succumbed into something like a swoon, and lost my
miserable consciousness in the street before her door.

CHAPTER XII.

When I came again to myself I found that what I should once have called
a "phenomenon" had taken place. The city, the dim street, the familiar
architecture of my home, the streams of light from the long windows,
the leaves of the linden tapping on the glass, the woman's shadow on
the wall, and the stirring toward me of the form and face I
loved,--these had vanished.

I was