[121] Thus we have a case, regarded by the narrator as hallucinatory, in which three persons saw a figure ascending the staircase of a country rectory. The occurrence took place shortly after the return of the family from church, and the figure was supposed to be that of the rector, until it was ascertained that he was at the time in another part of the house. As, however, it was dark and the head of the figure could not be seen, the identification could hardly have been complete, and as no search was made in the upper part of the house, it seems possible that the figure was that of some person who had gained entrance to the house during the absence of the family at church.
[122] See the article on Spirit Photographs by Mrs. Henry Sidgwick, Proc. S.P.R., vol. vii. pp. 268-289.
[123] This account was originally written in answer to a series of questions on a "census" form. A few connecting words have been inserted in order to make it read consecutively.
[124] With this may be compared an incident recorded by William Bell Scott (Autobiographical Notes, vol. ii. pp. 117, 118). The account is perhaps worth quoting, though the length of time which has elapsed, and the fact that it rests upon a single memory, leave to the narrative little value other than that derived from its literary associations. It should be added, however, that Mr. Scott's claim to a rational scepticism in these matters appears to be borne out by other passages in the book.
"I have so repeatedly expressed my unbelief in all the vulgar or popular forms of supernaturalism (says Mr. Scott), that I feel a little hesitation in recording a circumstance resembling that class of things which began the very evening after his [i.e., Rossetti's] departure. I could now get a little peace to revise my Dürer Journal, and my German friend Mr. Reid, who had given me an hour, stayed to dinner. Rossetti's habit, when composing or even correcting for the press, was to retire after dinner to the room above, the drawing-room of the old house, to read aloud to himself, when by himself. This he did in a voice so loud that we in the dining-room beneath could almost hear his words. Well, as we were sitting after dinner, when he must have been approaching London in the train, what could it be we heard? The usual voice reading to itself in the usual place over our heads! I looked at A. B.; she was listening intently till she could bear it no longer, and left the room. Our learned priest found me, I fancy, to be rather distrait, so he rose, saying it was about his time, and besides, he continued, 'I hear Miss Boyd has some friend in the drawing-room, so I won't go up. Give her my good-bye and respects.' I joined her at once, but of course we heard nothing in the room itself. Such is the circumstance as it took place. Mr. Reid, who knew nothing of the habit of D. G. R., hearing the voice as well as we did, although it sounded to him like talking rather than reading, was a sure evidence we were not deceiving ourselves. Next night it was the same, and so it went on till I left. When we tried to approach it was not audible, or when the doors of the drawing-room and its small ante-room communicating with the staircase were left open, we could make nothing of it. It gradually tapered off when Miss Boyd was left by herself; by-and-by the whole establishment was bolted and barred for the winter. Next season it had entirely ceased."
[125] Proc. American S.P.R., pp. 405-408. The reader may be interested in comparing the ragged and possibly commonplace account given in the text with the following spirited version of the same incident quoted from the Arena, March 1892. The writer of the account states that "the story, as I tell it, was given me by the wife." But he does not, it will be observed, quote it as in Mrs. W. O. S.'s words. After describing how the doctor was awakened by a strong light in the room and saw the figure of a woman, whom he at first mistook for his wife, the writer in the Arena proceeds as follows:—
"By this time he was broad awake, and sat upright in bed staring at the figure. He noticed that it was a woman in a white garment; and looking sharply, he recognised it, as he thought, as one of his patients who was very ill. Then he realised that this could not be so, and that if any one was in the room, it must be an intruder who had no right to be there. With the vague thought of a possible burglar thus disguised, he sprang out of bed and grasped his revolver, which he was accustomed to have near at hand. This brought him face to face with the figure, not three feet away. He now saw every detail of dress, complexion, and feature, and for the first time recognised the fact that it was not a being of flesh and blood. Then it was that, in quite an excited manner, he called his wife, hoping that she would get there to see it also. But the moment he called her name, the figure disappeared, leaving, however, the intense yellow light behind, and which they both observed for five minutes by the watch before it faded out.
"The next day it was found that one of his patients, closely resembling the figure he had seen, had died a few minutes before he saw his vision,—had died calling for him.
"It will be seen that this story, like the first one in this article, is perfectly authentic in every particular. There is no question as to the facts."
That, no doubt, is how the thing ought to have happened. A revolver and a watch are essential to a properly upholstered ghost-story. There ought to have been the dramatic confrontation of the living man with his spectral visitant; there ought to have been the instant recognition and as instant disappearance. Above all, there ought to have been the exquisite adjustment in the times of vision and death.