"And what did he say?" I asked.
"He said that it was all the work of Santoris, who was an evident professor of psychical imposture—"
I sprang up.
"Let him say that to ME!" I exclaimed—"Let him dare to say it! and I will prove who is the impostor to his face!"
She retreated from me with wide-open eyes of alarm.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she said. "We didn't really kill you—except—in a dream!"
A sudden silence fell between us; something cold and shadowy and impalpable seemed to possess the very air. If by some supernatural agency we had been momentarily deprived of life and motion, while a vast dark cloud, heavy with rain, had made its slow way betwixt us, the sense of chill and depression could hardly have been greater.
Presently Catherine spoke again, with a little forced laugh.
"What silly things I say!" she murmured—"You can see for yourself my nerves are in a bad state!—I am altogether unstrung!"
I stood for a moment looking at her, and considering the perplexity in which we both seemed involved.