a fixed grin, showed
the double row of teeth. By slow degrees, the hovering head (perfectly
still when she first saw it) began to descend towards Agnes as she lay
beneath. By slow degrees, that strange doubly-blended odour, which the
Commissioners had discovered in the vaults of the old palace--which had
sickened Francis Westwick in the bed-chamber of the new hotel--spread
its fetid exhalations over the room. Downward and downward the hideous
apparition made its slow progress, until it stopped close over
Agnes--stopped, and turned slowly, so that the face of it confronted
the upturned face of the woman in the chair.

There was a pause. Then, a supernatural movement disturbed the rigid
repose of the dead face.

The closed eyelids opened slowly. The eyes revealed themselves, bright
with the glassy film of death--and fixed their dreadful look on the
woman in the chair.

Agnes saw that look; saw the eyelids of the living woman open slowly
like the eyelids of the dead; saw her rise, as if in obedience to some
silent command--and saw no more.

Her next conscious impression was of the sunlight pouring in at the
window; of the friendly presence of Lady Montbarry at the bedside; and
of the children's wondering faces peeping in at the door.

CHAPTER XXIII

'...You have some influence over Agnes. Try what you can do, Henry, to
make her take a sensible view of the matter. There is really nothing
to make a fuss about. My wife's maid knocked at her door early in the
morning, with the customary cup of tea. Getting no answer, she went
round to the dressing-room--found the door on that side unlocked--and
discovered Agnes on the bed in a fainting fit. With my wife's help,
they brought her to herself again; and she told the extraordinary story
which I have just repeated to you. You must have seen for yourself
that she has been over-fatigued, poor thing, by our long railway
journeys: her nerves are out of order--and she is just the person to
be easily terrified by a dream. She obstinately refuses, however, to
accept this rational view. Don't suppose that I have been severe with
her! All that a man can do to humour her I have done. I have written
to the Countess (in her assumed name) offering to restore the room to
her. She writes back, positively declining to return to it. I have
accordingly arranged (so as not to have the thing known in the hotel)
to occupy the room for one or two nights, and to leave Agnes to recove