One night, shortly after eleven o'clock, when Mrs. M., as I shall call her, had gone to her bedroom, she thought she heard a moaning sound, and some one sobbing as though in great distress. Mr. M. was away from home, the servants slept in another part of the house, and she was quite alone except for a friend who had come to keep her company during her husband's absence, and to whom she had said good night a few minutes before. But being a courageous woman, she resolved to make an investigation and soon located the sound as coming from outdoors. Tiptoeing over to a window on the staircase landing, she raised the blind and cautiously peered out. Below, on the lawn, in the pale glow of the moon, she saw an amazing scene. A middle-aged man, stern of face and wearing a general's uniform, was standing menacingly over a young girl, who, with hands clasped in anguish, was on her knees before him. At the sight of his hard, unrelenting expression, Mrs. M.'s one thought was not of fear for herself but pity for the unfortunate girl. "So much did I feel for her," she said, in narrating the affair, "that without a moment's hesitation I ran down the staircase to the door opening upon the lawn to beg her to come in and tell me her sorrow." When she reached the door, the figures of the soldier and the girl were still plainly visible on the lawn, and in precisely the same attitude. But at the sound of her voice they disappeared. "They did not vanish instantly," Mrs. M. explained, "but more like a dissolving view--that is, gradually. And I did not leave the door until they had gone." Months afterwards, when calling with her husband at a neighboring house, she noticed on the wall the portrait of a distinguished-looking man in a military uniform. At once she recognized it. "That," she told her husband, in an undertone, "is a picture of the officer I saw on the lawn." Aloud she asked: "Whose portrait is that?" "Why," replied her host, "it is a portrait of my uncle, General Sir X. Y. He was born and died in the house you now occupy. But why do you ask?" When she had told the story, her host commented: "What you say is most singular. For it is an unhappy fact that Sir X. Y.'s youngest daughter, a beautiful girl, brought disgrace upon the family, was disowned and driven from home by her father, and died broken-hearted."[5] [5] Mrs. M.'s detailed account of this experience, with a corroboratory statement by Mr. M., is published in the _Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research_, vol. viii, pp. 178-179.