Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleep; now witchcraft—”
Elfie lost herself, nodded forward, caught herself up and began again, “Now witchcraft,” and nodded, and then resumed, “Witchcraft,” and then she fell fast asleep.
Now what followed Elfie could never exactly account for, could never even understand whether it were reality or “witchcraft,” indeed.
But this was what took place, or seemed to do so.
Elfie thought that she was again on the point of dropping to sleep, when she became conscious that a tall, handsome, black-haired and black-dressed man stood beside her. She seemed only half awake, and took the man for Justin, and was about to speak to him, when she suddenly recognized the Rebel General Eastworth, supposed to be then in the entrenched lines of Charleston, helping to defend the city, but also reported to have been killed in the last assault by the Union forces.
Before Elfie recovered from her astonishment so as to be able to call out, the man, or the ghost, whichever it was, stretched forth his arm, and placed a moist sponge, enveloped in a white handkerchief, to her nose. And Elfie was at once exhilarated and overwhelmed by a strange, delicious odor, that intoxicated her with a wild yet sweet delirium, and deprived her of both the will and the power to change her position.
Sitting there, perfectly powerless, yet perfectly conscious, unable to move or to speak, she yet heard and saw all that passed.
The tall man pinned the sponge in the handkerchief to her boddice directly under her nose, so that, with her head resting on her breast, she must continue to breathe the fumes.
Then he turned and dropped on his knees by the bed so as to bring his dark, agonized brow nearer to the level of the beautiful pale face pillowed there, and he kissed the cold lips passionately and wept.