e confession of Henry Halifax,
the spirit, was no illusion on my part, but _the absolute truth_.

Young, handsome, rich, with all the world before him (he was only
twenty-four at the time), this lady had been greatly puzzled by his
intense depression of the last few months, and told me that he was
constantly speaking of suicide. It was supposed to be a purely physical
condition by his parents and others. She, however, knew an intimate man
friend of his. By one of those not uncommon mistakes, whereby each one
supposes the other to be in the confidence of a mutual acquaintance, she
had discovered that the real trouble was mental rather than physical,
and that the death of the young woman of lower social position, in
child-birth, "_last midsummer_" was an actual fact!

Needless to say how great was her astonishment to find that the whole
story had been made known to me through such a curious train of
circumstances--first, my experience of the malignant spirit; secondly,
my happening to go to Wimbledon next day and mention the circumstances
to the wife of the florist there; thirdly, _her_ strong and, as it
proved, quite accurate impressions upon the subject; and fourthly, my
two interviews:--first, with the betrayer, and then with the betrayed on
the psychic plane.

Some few months later I was asked by the lady just mentioned if I should
object to meeting Henry Halifax at dinner next evening.

"Not at all," was my answer. In fact, I felt it might be part of some
psychic plan that I should do so. Evidently this was not the case, for
at the last moment a telegram came to his hostess to say he was
unexpectedly prevented from returning to town.

So we have never met at all! But I trust the confession may have been as
efficacious as Mrs Levret was told that it would be. Anyway, I can
testify that the gentleman in question is now happily married, and,
therefore, presumably no longer haunted by the revengeful spirit, who
has long since, let us trust, found happiness and peace in a higher
world than this.

* * * * *

Speaking of haunting by the so-called dead reminds me of haunting by the
so-called living.

In this same year (1896) I was staying in Cambridge for the first time
in my life.

Oxford I have known since girlhood, but this was my first visit to the
Sister University; needless to say, however, that I have met many men
who have graduated there. Not knowing the town of Cambridge mys