When Harding reached his bed-room, he spoke to his wife, and entreated her to prepare her mind for some great calamity.
‘What it is to be,’ said Harding, ‘where the blow is to fall I know not; but it is over us this night!’
‘My life!’ exclaimed Mrs. Harding, ‘what new fancy is this?’
‘Eliza, love!’ answered her husband, in a tone of unspeakable agony, ‘I have seen her for the third and last time.’
‘Who?’
‘Martha, the Gipsy.’
‘Impossible,’ said Mrs. Harding, ‘you have not left the house to-day.’
‘True, my beloved,’ replied the husband; ‘but I have seen her. When that tremendous noise was heard at supper, as the door was supernaturally opened, I saw her. She fixed those dreadful eyes of her’s upon me; she proceeded to the fire-place, and stood in the midst of the children, and there she remained till the servant came in.’
‘My dearest husband,’ said Mrs. Harding, ‘this is but a disorder of the imagination!’
‘Be it what it may,’ said he, ‘I have seen her. Human or superhuman—natural or supernatural—there she was. I shall not strive to argue upon a point where I am likely to meet with little credit: all I ask is, pray fervently, have faith, and we will hope the misfortune, whatever it is, may be averted.’