“Yes.”  The tone was one of utter conviction.  “I had never believed in such things—­never thought about them, but—­it was a week ago—­in the library—­I have not seen a happy moment since—­”

“My darling!”

“Yes, yes, I know; but imagine!  I was sitting reading.  I had just come from the nursery, and the memory of Laura’s good-night kiss was more in my mind than the story I was finishing when—­oh, I can not think of it without a shudder!—­the page before me seemed to recede and the words fade away in a blue mist; glancing up I beheld the outlines of a form between me and the lamp. which a moment before had been burning brightly.  Outlines, Henry,—­I was conscious of no substance, and the eyes which met mine from that shadowy, blood-curdling Something were those of the grave and meant a grave for you or for me.  Oh, I know what I say!  There was no mistaking their look.  As it burned into and through me, everything which had given reality to my life faded and seemed as far away and as unsubstantial as a dream.  Nor has its power over me gone yet.  I go about amongst you, I eat, I sleep, or try to; I greet men, talk with women, but it is all unreal, all phantasmagoric, even yourself and your love and, O God, my baby!  What is real and distinctive, an absolute part of me and my life, is that shape from the dead, with its threatening eyes which pierce—­pierce—­”

She was losing her self-control.  Her husband, with a soothing touch on her arm, brought her back to the present.

“You speak of a form,” he said, “a shadowy outline.  The form of what?  A man or a woman?”

“A man! a man!” With the exclamation she seemed to shrink into herself and her eyes, just now deprecating and appealing, took on a hollow stare, as if the vision she described had risen again before her.

In spite of himself and the sympathy he undoubtedly felt for her, an ejaculation of impatience left her husband’s lips.  Obligations very far removed from the fantasies of a disturbed mind made these unsubstantial fears of hers seem puerile enough to this virile, outspoken man.  No doubt she heard it, and to stop the matter-of-fact protest on his lips added quickly: 

“Not the form, face and eyes of a man, as they usually appear.  Hell was in his gaze and the message he gave, if it was a message, was one of disaster, if not death.  Do you wonder that my happiness vanished before it?  That I can not be myself since that dreadful day?”

The mayor was a practical man; he kept close to the subject.

“You saw this form between you and the lighted lamp.  How long did it stay there and what became of it?”

“I can not tell you.  One moment it was there and the next it was gone, and I found myself staring into vacancy.  I seem to be staring there still, waiting for the blow destined to shatter this household.”

“Nonsense! give me a kiss and fix your thoughts on something more substantial.  What we have to fear and all we have to fear is that I may lose my election.  And that won’t kill me, whatever effect it may have on the party.”