f shudder, and of the dreamy condition accompanying it (as Miss
Angelica and I did), why shouldn't you be glad to prolong it?"

"Let me say, my dear friend," Dagobert answered, "that the kind of
dreaminess which we have to do with in this instance is not that in
which the mind, or spirit, goes losing and sinking itself in all kinds
of vague labyrinths of complexity of wondrous, calm enjoyment. The
storm-wind, the blazing fire, and the punch are only the predisposing
causes of the onsetting of that incomprehensible, mysterious
condition--deeply grounded in our human organism--which our minds
strive, in vain, to fight against, and which we ought to take great
care not to allow ourselves to yield to over much. What I mean is, the
fear of the supernatural. We all know that the uncanny race of ghosts,
the haunters, choose the night (and particularly in stormy weather), to
arise from their darksome dwellings, and set forth upon their
mysterious wanderings. So that we are right in expecting some of those
fearsome visitants just at a time like this."

"You do not mean what you say, of course," Madame von G. answered; "and
I need not tell you that the sort of superstitious fear which we so
often, in a childish way, feel, is not in any degree inherent in our
organization as human beings. I am certain that it is chiefly traceable
to the foolish stories of ghosts, and so forth, which servants tell us
while we are children."

"No, Madame," Dagobert answered; "those tales--which we enjoyed more
than any others which we heard as children--would never have raised up
such an enduring echo in us if the strings which re-echo them had not
existed within us to begin with. There is no denying the existence of
the mysterious spirit-world which lies all around us, and often gives
us note of its Being in wondrous, mystic sounds, and even in marvellous
sights. Most probably the shudder of awe with which we receive those
intimations of that spirit-world, and the involuntary fear which
they produce in us, are nothing but the result of our being hemmed
in--imprisoned--by our human organization. The awe and the fear are
merely the modes in which the spirit imprisoned within our bodies
expresses its sorrow thereat."

"You are a spirit-seer, a believer in all those things--like all people
who have lively imaginations," said Madame von G. "But if I were to go
the length of admitting, and believing, that it is permitted that an
unknown spirit-world