who was vaguely designated as the Beloved, had perished in some frightful manner before her eyes, and ever since that time she had devoted herself to the study of the occult sciences in the firm conviction that it was possible to discover a medium of communication with the Unseen World.  She now persisted that I had been designated by unerring proofs as that medium.  She assured me that, months previously, she had foreseen my arrival at Longacres in the precise fashion in which it really took place.

“Every detail,” she said, “was exactly foreshadowed in the vision.  Not only did I recognise you at once by your clothes (which were different from those of the other men present), but your voice seemed familiar to me, as if I had known you for years.  I saw you gazing at me with what I fondly believed to be a look of mutual recognition.  I remember rising from my seat in a species of ecstatic trance to which I am liable in moments of excitement.  I have a faint recollection of addressing you with an impassioned appeal for help, to which you responded with icy indifference, but the rest of our interview remains a blank.  Only there was a cruel sense of disappointment:  instead of meeting as two spirits whose interests were inseparable, you denied any previous knowledge of me, and even manifested a sort of terrified aversion at my approach.  I saw you shrink away from my side; then nothing remained for me but to temporarily dissemble my purpose and try first to win your confidence by the exercise of my poor woman’s wits.  In this at least I was successful!”

Irene only spoke the truth.  She had completely subdued my will by her fascinations, and though I hated and, in private, ridiculed all supernatural dealings, I was prepared to try the wildest experiments at her bidding.

The trial of my obedience arrived sooner than I anticipated.  Immediately after luncheon next day Irene made a sign to me to follow her into the garden.

“All is ready!” she exclaimed, with great excitement.  “To-night will see us successful or for ever lost!”

“What do you mean?” I inquired, dubiously; for it did not sound a very cheery prospect.

“I mean that all things point to a hasty solution of the great problem.  To-night the planets are propitious, and with your help the chain of communication will be at last complete.  Oh, my Beloved! my toil and waiting has not been all in vain!”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” I said, rather sulkily.  “Mind, it mustn’t be this evening, because Mrs. Maitland has a lot of people coming to dinner, and we can’t possibly leave the drawing-room.”

“The crisis will be at midnight in the ruined chapel,” observed Irene, as if she were stating the most ordinary fact; “but you must meet me an hour before to make all sure.”

“Preposterous!” I exclaimed; “it’s quite out of the question.  Wander about the garden at midnight indeed!  What would people say if they saw us?”