I exclaimed, "what do you mean?"

"Don't you understand yet?" she asked in amazement on her side. "Must I
speak more plainly still? When you saw the apparition of me, did you see
me write?"

"Yes. On a letter that the lady was writing for me. I saw the words
afterward; the words that brought me to you last night: 'At the month's
end, In the shadow of Saint Paul's.'"

"How did I appear to write on the unfinished letter?"

"You lifted the writing-case, on which the letter and the pen lay,
off the lady's lap; and, while you wrote, you rested the case on her
shoulder."

"Did you notice if the lifting of the case produced any effect on her?"

"I saw no effect produced," I answered. "She remained immovable in her
chair."

"I saw it differently in my dream. She raised her hand--not the
hand that was nearest to you, but nearest to me. As _I_ lifted the
writing-case, _she_ lifted her hand, and parted the folds of the veil
from off her face--I suppose to see more clearly. It was only for a
moment; and in that moment I saw what the veil hid. Don't let us speak
of it! You must have shuddered at that frightful sight in the reality,
as I shuddered at it in the dream. You must have asked yourself, as
I did: 'Is there nobody to poison the terrible creature, and hide her
mercifully in the grave?'"

At those words, she abruptly checked herself. I could say nothing--my
face spoke for me. She saw it, and guessed the truth.

"Good heavens!" she cried, "you have not seen her! She must have kept
her face hidden from you behind the veil! Oh, why, why did you cheat
me into talking of it! I will never speak of it again. See, we are
frightening the child! Come here, darling; there is nothing to be afraid
of. Come, and bring your cake with you. You shall be a great lady,
giving a grand dinner; and we will be two friends whom you have invited
to dine with you; and the doll shall be the little girl who comes in
after dinner, and has fruit at dessert!" So she ran on, trying vainly
to forget the shock that she had inflicted on me in talking nursery
nonsense to the child.

Recovering my composure in some degree, I did my best to second the
effort that she had made. My quieter thoughts suggested that she might
well be self-deceived in believing the horrible spectacle presented to
her in the vision to be an actual reflection of the truth. In common
justice toward Miss Dunross I ought surely not to accept the conviction
of her deformity on no