We were in a state of high nervous excitement for the next five minutes, during which the same noises I had heard the night before were repeated overhead, only that the curses were louder and delivered with more determination, and the falls appeared to succeed each other like hail. ‘Oh, sir, what are they a-doing?’ exclaimed Mrs Bizzey, paralysed with terror. ‘They must be killing each other all round.’ ‘Hush!’ I replied. ‘Listen, now. Some one is pleading for love or for mercy. How soft and clear the voice is!’ ‘It sounds for all the world like my poor sister Jane when she was asking her husband to forgive her for everything she had done amiss,’ said the old woman. ‘Perhaps it is your sister Jane, or some of your relations,’ I replied. ‘She may want you to do something for her. Would you be afraid if she were suddenly to open the door and come into the room?’ ‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure, sir; but I hope she mayn’t. It makes me curdle all over only to think of it.’ ‘They’re quieter now. Let us ask if there is any one present who wishes to speak to us,’ I said; and addressing the table to that effect, I commenced to spell out the alphabet rather loudly—‘A, B, C,’ etc. Whether from my nervousness, or the united strain we laid upon it, I know not, but the table certainly began to rock at that juncture, though I could make neither head nor tail of its intentions. Treating it in the orthodox manner by which Britons invariably attempt to communicate with a foreigner who does not understand one word of the language spoken, I began to bawl at the table, and my A, B, C must have reverberated through the empty house. Again the old woman whispered mysteriously to the old man, but he dismissed her question with an impatient answer; and my attention was too much attracted in another direction at that moment to give much heed of what they were doing. My ear had caught the sound of a descending footstep, and I felt sure the spirits were at last about to visit us _in propriæ personæ_. But dreading the effect it might have on Mrs Bizzey’s nerves, I purposely held my tongue, and applied myself afresh to a vigorous repetition of the alphabet, striving to cover the approaching footstep by the noise of my own voice, although I was trembling with excitement and delight at the successful issue of my undertaking. At last I plainly heard the footstep pause outside the door, as though deliberating before it opened it. The old man was apparently too deaf or too absorbed to notice it, and his wife was in a state of helpless fright. I alone sufficiently retained my senses to see the door slowly open, and a white-robed figure—a real, materialised spirit—stand upon the threshold. The gesture of delight, which I could not repress, roused my companions from their reverie; and as soon as Mrs Bizzey turned and saw the figure, she recognised it.