And for the fourth time that night I heard my brother muttering like distant thunder, go back to his bed.
But I do not think that he slept that night, and I am sure that I did not.
In the morning I felt weary, and certain that if this mysterious visitation continued, I should go mad. As I was dressing before the toilet mirror, the reflection of my own face in the glass startled and terrified me, it looked so pale, wild and haggard, and not unlike the awful face of the midnight spectre. When Rachel and myself were dressed and ready to go down, I opened the door. And just at that moment my brother and Mr. Howard came out of their chamber and bade us "Good-morning."
"Were you at our door last night, Agnes?" John asked me.
"At your door, John? Certainly not."
"Wasn't you, though?"
"Assuredly not. What should have brought me there?"
"Well, somebody was, that's all!" said my brother, while Mr. Howard silently looked what he did not say.
We all went down together to the parlor, where a fine fire was burning, and Mathilde, in her fresh morning beauty, waited to welcome us.
And soon our host and hostess entered, and in a few moments the breakfast was announced, and we all adjourned to the table.