"Yes; I had left the light burning and entered to turn it off. I found on the desk another note beginning, 'My dear wife.'"
"And then what?"
"I was here the next night and the next. There was something about it that fascinated me, and I saw that there was no reason for fear. In the end it came to seem almost natural—almost as if he were here in the flesh."
"And always the same things happened?"
"Yes, or nearly so, the writing growing more legible all the time."
"And then?"
"Then, three nights ago, I grew brave enough to go and stand by the desk, and look over his shoulder, as it were, while he wrote the note which I showed you this morning."
"You mean that he actually did write it while you were looking over his shoulder?"
"I mean that the words formed themselves on the sheet of paper under my eyes, precisely as they flowed off his pen."
"And there wasn't any pen?"