"Was I dreaming?" I asked myself, "or are the spirits of the dead come back?"
Scarcely had the thought passed my mind when I heard another cry, more piteous, if possible, than the other.
"Jasper, Jasper, my love, Jasper!" I heard. "Can you not deliver me?"
The cry was very real, and it had no suggestion of the grave. It was the voice of some one living.
"My God!" I cried; "it is Naomi!"
I looked at my watch; it was six o'clock, and thus wanted two hours to daybreak. Hurriedly I left the inn and went out again. A rimy frost had come upon every twig and bush and tree, and in the light of the moon the ice crystals sparkled as though the spirits had scattered myriads of precious stones everywhere. But I thought not of this. I made my way toward the spot from which I thought I had heard the sound come, and then listened intently. All was silent as death.
Near me was a tall tree. I made a leap at its lowest branches, and a few seconds later was fifteen or twenty feet from the ground. From this position I saw the whole garden. I looked long and steadily, but could discern nothing of importance. I continued to strain my ears to listen, but all was silent save the rippling of the brook that wended its way down the valley, and which seemed to deride me in my helplessness.
"It was all fancy," I said, bitterly—"all fancy; or perhaps I am mad."
I prepared to get down from the tree when I heard a sound like sobbing not thirty yards from me.