of the
carpet where she had stood and the objects of the room that had been
hidden by her draperies--all again in the most commonplace way, but she
was gone, quite gone.

"Then Herbert, seeing me relax my intense gaze, began to question
me. I told him exactly what I have told you. He answered, as every
"common-sensible" person of course would, that it was strange, but that
such things did happen sometimes and were classed by the wise under the
head of 'optical delusions.' I was not well, perhaps, he suggested. Been
over-working? Had I not better see a doctor? But I shook my head. I was
quite well, and I said so. And perhaps he was right, it might be an
optical delusion only. I had never had any experience of such things.

"'All the same,' I said, 'I shall mark down the date.'

"Herbert laughed and said that was what people always did in such cases.
If he knew where Mrs. ---- then was he would write to her, just for the
fun of the thing, and ask her to be so good as to look up her diary, if
she kept one, and let us know what she had been doing on that particular
day--'the 6th of April, isn't it?' he said--when I would have it her
wraith had paid me a visit. I let him talk. It seemed to remove the
strange painful impression--painful because of that terrible sadness in
the sweet face. But we neither of us knew where she was, we scarcely
remembered her married name! And so there was nothing to be done--except,
what I did at once in spite of Herbert's rallying, to mark down the day
and hour with scrupulous exactness in _my_ diary.

"Time passed. I had not forgotten my strange experience, but of course
the impression of it lessened by degrees till it seemed more like a
curious dream than anything more real, when one day I _did_ hear of
poor Maud again. 'Poor' Maud I cannot help calling her. I heard of her
indirectly, and probably, but for the sadness of her story, I should
never have heard it at all. It was a friend of her husband's family who
had mentioned the circumstances in the hearing of a friend of mine, and
one day something brought round the conversation to old times, and he
startled me by suddenly inquiring if I remembered Maud Bertram. I said,
of course I did. Did he know anything of her? And then he told me.

"She was dead--she had died some months ago after a long and trying
illness, the result of a terrible accident. She had caught fire one
evening when dressed for some grand entertainment or other, and thou