As the burned match fell to the floor a beam of light suddenly shot across the gloom.
And there, before the old-fashioned fire-place, stood a figure corresponding in every particular to Lavina Richmond as she appeared in a portrait painted just previous to her death, and hanging at that moment in the colonel's room.
There was no sound in the room except the labored breathing of the excited old man, whose faith was now fully justified to his mind.
He was gazing straight at this apparition.
It was veiled, and the heavy folds of a black silk dress in the style of many years ago hung loosely about the form.
Immediately a white hand appeared. The veil was lifted, disclosing the thin and pale face of a woman of advanced age and feeble health. The likeness of Lavina Richmond was perfect.
The colonel tried to speak, but his voice stuck in his throat.
Slowly the veil descended. Nick made a sign to Patsy, who had pressed up a little in advance.
He had kept an eye over his shoulder, however, to be sure of getting any orders from his chief.
There was light enough to see the signal. Patsy sprang forward toward the specter.