Could he have dreamed? The ghost, invisible,
still watched him. Yes, a dream,--only a dream; but, how vivid, how
strange! With a slow thrill creeping through his veins, the blood
curdling at his heart, a cold sweat starting on his forehead, he stared
through the dimness of the room. All was vacancy.
With a strong shudder, he strode forward, and turned up the flames of
the chandelier. A flood of garish light filled the apartment. In a
moment, remembering the letter to which the phantom of his dream had
pointed, he turned and took it from the table. The last page lay upward,
and every word of the solemn counsel at the end seemed to dilate on
the paper, and all its mighty meaning rushed upon his soul. Trembling
in his own despite, he laid it down and moved away. A physician, he
remembered that he was in a state of violent nervous excitement, and
thought that when he grew calmer its effects would pass from him. But
the hand that had touched him had gone down deeper than the physician,
and reached what God had made.
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