ed him out of his lethargy. Violence, I felt was
what he needed--violence, a storm, tears, reproaches--all the things he
would never get from his wife.

For a minute or two she sat there, with the letters before her, and
watched him with her thoughtful and tender gaze. I knew from her face,
so lovely and yet so sad, that she was looking again at invisible
things--at the soul of the man she loved, not at the body. She saw him,
detached and spiritualized, and she saw also the Other One--for while we
waited I became slowly aware of the apparition in the firelight--of the
white face and the cloudy hair and the look of animosity and bitterness
in the eyes. Never before had I been so profoundly convinced of the
malignant will veiled by that thin figure. It was as if the visible form
were only a spiral of grey smoke covering a sinister purpose.

"The only way," said Mrs. Vanderbridge, "is to fight fairly even when
one fights evil." Her voice was like a bell, and as she spoke, she rose
from the couch and stood there in her glowing beauty confronting the
pale ghost of the past. There was a light about her that was almost
unearthly--the light of triumph. The radiance of it blinded me for an
instant. It was like a flame, clearing the atmosphere of all that was
evil, of all that was poisonous and deadly. She was looking directly at
the phantom, and there was no hate in her voice--there was only a great
pity, a great sorrow and sweetness.

"I can't fight you that way," she said, and I knew that for the first
time she had swept aside subterfuge and evasion, and was speaking
straight to the presence before her. "After all, you are dead and I am
living, and I cannot fight you that way. I give up everything. I give
him back to you. Nothing is mine that I cannot win and keep fairly.
Nothing is mine that belongs really to you."

Then, while Mr. Vanderbridge rose, with a start of fear, and came
towards her, she bent quickly, and flung the letters into the fire. When
he would have stooped to gather the unburned pages, her lovely flowing
body curved between his hands and the flames; and so transparent, so
ethereal she looked, that I saw--or imagined that I saw--the firelight
shine through her. "The only way, my dear, is the right way," she said
softly.

The next instant--I don't know to this day how or when it began--I was
aware that the apparition had drawn nearer, and that the dread and fear,
the evil purpose, were no longer a part of