expect him back.  One night, you, my child, were fast asleep; you were my only solace—­my comfort in my loneliness.  I had been watching over you in your slumbers; you smiled and half pronounced the name of mother; and at last I kissed your unconscious lips, and I knelt and prayed—­prayed for God’s blessing on you, my child, and upon him too—­little thinking, at the time, that he was so horribly, so fearfully cursed.”

The widow paused for breath, and then resumed.  Philip could not speak.  His lips were sundered, and his eyes riveted upon his mother, as he devoured her words.

“I left you and went downstairs into that room, Philip, which since that dreadful night has never been re-opened.  I sate me down and read, for the wind was strong, and when the gale blows, a sailor’s wife can seldom sleep.  It was past midnight, and the rain poured down.  I felt unusual fear,—­I knew not why.  I rose from the couch and dipped my finger in the blessed water, and I crossed myself.  A violent gust of wind roared round the house, and alarmed me still more.  I had a painful, horrible foreboding; when, of a sudden, the windows and window-shutters were all blown in, the light was extinguished, and I was left in utter darkness.  I screamed with fright; but at last I recovered myself, and was proceeding towards the window that I might reclose it, when whom should I behold, slowly entering at the casement, but—­your father,—­Philip!—­Yes, Philip,—­it was your father!”

“Merciful God!” muttered Philip, in a low tone almost subdued into a whisper.

“I knew not what to think,—­he was in the room; and although the darkness was intense, his form and features were as clear and as defined as if it were noon-day.  Fear would have inclined me to recoil from,—­his loved presence to fly towards him.  I remained on the spot where I was, choked with agonising sensations.  When he had entered the room, the windows and shutters closed of themselves, and the candle was relighted—­then I thought it was his apparition, and I fainted on the floor.

“When I recovered I found myself on the couch, and perceived that a cold (O how cold!) and dripping hand was clasped in mine.  This reassured me, and I forgot the supernatural signs which accompanied his appearance.  I imagined that he had been unfortunate, and had returned home.  I opened my eyes, and beheld my loved husband and threw myself into his arms.  His clothes were saturated with the rain:  I felt as if I had embraced ice—­but nothing can check the warmth of a woman’s love, Philip.  He received my caresses, but he caressed not again:  he spoke not, but looked thoughtful and unhappy.  ‘William—­William,’ cried I! ’speak, Vanderdecken, speak to your dear Catherine.’

“‘I will,’ replied he, solemnly, ‘for my time is short.’

“’No, no, you must not go to sea again:  you have lost your vessel, but you are safe.  Have I not you again?’

“’Alas! no—­be not alarmed, but listen, for my time is short.  I have not lost my vessel, Catherine, but I have lost!!!  Make no reply, but listen; I am not dead, nor yet am I alive.  I hover between this world and the world of Spirits.  Mark me.