"Mark my word," said I, "when you return to —— and call on that family, you will be informed that Maud has had another fit. This is the 15th. Mark the day and the hour, and if she has not, I will lose my right hand, or I will give you permission to bleed me."
"What connection is there between her having a fit and your imagining that you saw her at the theatre? If she was at the theatre, I must have seen her as well as you, and if she were in a fit this evening, how could she be at the theatre?"
I pretended to be convinced by his arguments, but forbore to explain myself further, merely adding:
"Well, we shall see—if you hear Maud has had a fit on the evening of the 15th, at about the same hour as the last one, you will let me know, will you not?"
"Oh, certainly."
At this moment the waiter returned with my supper, and the conversation took a different turn; but after we had finished and were returning home, he urged me again to be bled or to try a little change of air, as he observed that my nerves were evidently out of order. Having arrived at the corner of a street, I shook hands with my friend, and we parted. It was about a week after our parting, on returning from a walk I found a letter on my table. My servant told me that an elderly gentleman had called and enquired if I were at home, and receiving an answer in the negative, he had asked for pen, ink, and paper, and left me the following lines:—
My Dear Sir—Since I saw you last I have received a letter from Mrs. —— begging me to return as soon as I conveniently could, as Maud had had another fit on the evening of the 15th, between nine and half-past—the very day and hour, you will remember, you fancied you saw her in the box opposite mine. I am not a believer in spiritual apparitions, and therefore cannot set this down to anything more than a very strange coincidence. I called at the house of Mrs. —— and saw the whole family. When the lady of the house had told me about Maud's fit, I afterwards related to her, in the presence of the young lady herself, the curious circumstance of her fancied appearance to you in the stage box. Maud listened with great attention, and seemed to take more interest in my recital than the rest did, for afterwards, taking me apart, she asked me many questions about you; when I had seen you last, how you were, etc., etc. I returned to town yesterday, and as you asked me to let you know if your prophecy came true, I have left you this note. Till we meet again,—Yours very truly,
John Merrivale.
How I triumphed inwardly on the perusal of this letter! I placed it in my pocket, and taking my hat and cane, I left my lodgings and walked about the streets with a buoyant step, hoping to meet Merrivale, just to crow over him for disbelieving my vision. I would have called upon him, had I known his address, but I saw no more of my friend—at least, for some time afterwards. It happened that on that very evening a piece was being performed at our theatre in which I did not act, and I thought I would be a spectator for once in a way, so, from caprice, I took the very box in which I had seen Maud. On entering the box I experienced all the awe and veneration of a pious devotee when he kneels at some holy shrine.
"This place has been visited by Maud's spirit," said I to myself, as I shut myself in. "This is the very chair she used."