I took my flask from my pocket and bathed my wife's forehead, and poured a few drops of brandy and water down her throat, and I was presently relieved by seeing her eyes open. She closed them again immediately, and said, in a whisper:
"Is it gone?"
Anxious to learn what she had seen--for I inwardly argued that I might myself be the victim of a strange delusion--I met her inquiry by asking:
"Is what gone, Maria?"
"The girl," she murmured; "that dreadful figure that came into the room?"
"Look for yourself," I said.
It was not without apprehension that I made the request, and I nervously followed the direction of her eyes.
"It is not in the room," she sighed. "But, Edward, who opened the door?"
"The wind blew it open, most likely."
"You locked it, Edward! I heard you turn the key in the lock."