e
continuation of the dream of the preceding night, and this has been
regularly going on for more than a year, each dream being crowded with a
series of events such as would be sufficient to fill up a lifetime; and
so vivid, indeed, is the colouring of everything in these visions, that
I no more doubt in a double existence than that I am talking to you at
the present moment. In awaking, too, I find, that instead of vanishing
like an ordinary dream, I bear ever afterwards the strongest
recollection of everything that has happened during my period of sleep."

"Indeed!" I exclaimed. "It is very strange. I am just attending a young
man in London who shares your complaint. The case is a rare one; I never
came across one before at all like it. The coincidence about the whole
affair is so strange, too. His name happens to be Charles, and whilst
talking in his sleep as they tell me you do, I have heard him mention
the name Edith. Your name, is it not?"

"'Tis he! 'Tis he!" exclaimed my patient, enthusiastically, throwing up
her arms and clasping her hands above her head. "I knew it, I knew it!
But tell me more about him, doctor! I did not see him last night, and I
was so unhappy. The night before he appeared to me less distinct than he
had ever done before. Oh, doctor," she cried, in an agonising tone, "you
are _curing_ him, you are _curing_ him!" much in the same way as she
might have called out, "You are _killing_ him!"

"Yes, I hope to some day. There is no great harm in that, I suppose?" I
remarked.

"Oh, yes, indeed!" she cried; "you are imprisoning his spirit within his
body, and I shall never see him again."

"Well," I thought to myself, "this is about the oddest courtship _I_
ever heard of; but," I continued, aloud, "supposing I could cure you
both; then, afterwards, you might meet in the flesh; and how much better
that would be. You would preserve your health and----"

"No, no," she cried. "Do you think our joys could be half so intense, so
ethereal, in a fleshly life as when walking in the spirit? No, doctor,
have mercy upon both of us, and leave us to die; we shall then be all
spirit."

"Charles' sentiments exactly," I muttered.

"Are they not?" she said, brightening up. "He, then, has let you into
the secret of this phenomenon of his being! Oh, doctor," she exclaimed,
"don't, don't, _cure him_!"

She spoke with such agony of feeling, that I could not help feeling the
deepest sympathy for her, and I actual