ndows us with that intuition of secret
events, that species of devotion, sometimes as an act of mercy to prepare
us for a misfortune which will overtake us, sometimes in mercy to point
out to us the consequences of the concealed peril in which we are
engaged.

"Even you, who seem not to believe in presentiments, have more than once
been seized with an involuntary apprehension. This dread, this sadness,
is the antecedent of the tempest. It announces regret, accident, and
unforeseen distress. Nay, I think we thus are informed of dangers which
menace one we love. I think there is a real link between souls which love
each other, a mysterious tie, an invisible union, so powerful however,
that how great soever the distance may be, one cannot suffer without the
other being unhappy; I will even say, that I think these bonds exist
between the living and the dead, that the chilly grave does not crush all
love, that the dead are touched by the tears we shed for them, and by the
fidelity of our affections to them. I will not in this connection repeat
to you stories of apparitions, ghost stories, etc. If you do not believe
what I say, you will also doubt all popular anecdotes. There are
sentiments which cannot be demonstrated, inductions and revelations which
austere reason rejects, and casts amid the empire of dreams, which exert
a great influence over the heart. I saw one night my mother standing at
the foot of my bed. She died when I was born. She leaned over me and
kissed my forehead. Her lips seemed cold as ice, yet her kiss burned me.
She looked at me for a moment in silence, and her large blue eyes were
filled with tears. She then slowly withdrew, and as she did so, opened
her arms to call me to her. Once again, as I opened a door I saw myself,
pale as my father used to describe my mother to me, and clad in a
long, white robe, which fell about me like a shroud. Old people will tell
you there is no more certain sign of death, and I am sure I shall not
live long. For that reason I do not attach myself to this world, nor
indulge as others do in reveries about the future."

This conviction of Ebba was evidently deeply rooted that Ireneus knew not
how reply to it. He, however, sought to represent to Ebba that these
impressions should not be taken too seriously to heart, and that at her
age, and with her qualities, she should not anticipate a sacrifice of
existence, nor give up the joys and hopes of life.

Ebba said nothing. She,