"When did you make the discovery?"
"I didn't make it suddenly. I had my suspicions after she had been in the house two or three days. But I became sure when, not long after she had been here, she came to me and told me she had seen a shadow in the air of a hand holding a knife."
"She told you this?" I exclaimed, with a start.
"Yes, Sir. She spoke in a whisper, looking around her, like one who tells a great secret. Her eyes were all alight, but her cheeks were pale. She told me not to tell you."
"And you kept your promise?" I said, bitterly. "Why did you not tell me?"
"I hadn't the heart, Sir. I saw how you loved her—how you loved each other—and I couldn't speak. Besides, I thought it might be some wild notion she had brought away with her from her home. She led a dull life, and I guessed all sorts of strange fancies might have taken her in her loneliness. And to speak the truth, Sir, though I feared that her mind was not right, I thought your company would bring her back to herself."
"And do you think she has improved?"
"I am afraid not, Sir."
"What am I to do, Mrs. Williams? how do you advise me to act?"
Just then I heard my wife singing as she mounted the stairs, and we broke off our conversation. I put on a cheerful look; and when she saw me she came bounding up, with lighted eyes and outstretched hands, her face brilliant with a smile. Mrs. Williams had left the landing before Geraldine reached me; and for my part, I appeared in the act of descending. She caught my hand and kissed it, a frequent action with her, but she did it with an exquisite grace, as one would do who had learnt her attitudes from nature.