The simplest explanation of this incident, and that which involves the least departure from known forms of telepathy, is that the figure seen by Frances Reddell was due to thought-transference from the mind of the dying girl. And this explanation has some direct evidence in its favour. There is, of course, abundant proof of the transference from agent to percipient of a real or imaginary scene. (See the cases described in Chapters II., III., XIV., and XV.) But in these cases the percipient's impressions appear rarely to have risen to the level of hallucination, and in the absence of direct evidence it would not perhaps have been safe to assume that a detailed impression, such as a scene or a human figure, transferred from another mind, would be capable of taking complete sensory embodiment in the mind of the percipient. The frequency, however, of collective hallucinations of an apparently casual character seems to require such an assumption (see _ante_, p. 273). Moreover, a case has been recorded (_Proc. S.P.R._, vol. vi. pp. 434, 435) in which a hypnotically induced hallucination appears to have been reproduced in another hypnotised subject by telepathic suggestion from the original percipient. In the experiments recorded by Dr. Gibotteau (pp. 368, 369) the ideas mentally suggested by him appear in some cases to have assumed a hallucinatory form in the subject; and, finally, Wesermann (Chapter X., p. 233), in his fifth experiment succeeded in calling up a recognisable hallucination of a lady personally unknown to the percipients. We have, therefore, experimental parallels for our suggested interpretation of Frances Reddell's experience; and when once the possibility of thought-transference in this form is recognised, many so-called "ghosts" or phantasms of the dead find a simple and satisfactory explanation. The following case may be instanced:-- No. 92.--From MR. JOHN E. HUSBANDS, Melbourne House, Town Hall Square, Grimsby. "_September_ 15_th_, 1886. "The facts are simply these. I was sleeping in a hotel in Madeira in January 1885. It was a bright moonlight night. The windows were open and the blinds up. I felt some one was in my room. On opening my eyes, I saw a young fellow about twenty-five, dressed in flannels, standing at the side of my bed and pointing with the first finger of his right hand to the place I was lying in. I lay for some seconds to convince myself of some one being really there. I then sat up and looked at him. I saw his features so plainly that I recognised them in a photograph which was shown me some days after. I asked him what he wanted; he did not speak, but his eyes and hand seemed to tell me I was in his place. As he did not answer, I struck out at him with my fist as I sat up, but did not reach him, and as I was going to spring out of bed he slowly vanished through the door, which was shut, keeping his eyes upon me all the time.