But he did not come to himself as on the previous night, in spite of all they could do. He fell the same night into a high fever, complicated by failure of the heart. A few days later he passed away. A strange circumstance attended his second fainting-fit. When they lifted him up and laid him on his bed, in his clenched right hand they found a small tress of a woman’s dark hair. Where did this lock of hair come from? Anna Semyonovna had such a lock of hair left by Clara; but what could induce her to give Aratov a relic so precious to her? Could she have put it somewhere in the diary, and not have noticed it when she lent the book? In the delirium that preceded his death, Aratov spoke of himself as Romeo ... after the poison; spoke of marriage, completed and perfect; of his knowing now what rapture meant. Most terrible of all for Platosha was the minute when Aratov, coming a little to himself, and seeing her beside his bed, said to her, ‘Aunt, what are you crying for?--because I must die? But don’t you know that love is stronger than death?... Death! death! where is thy sting? You should not weep, but rejoice, even as I rejoice....’ And once more on the face of the dying man shone out the rapturous smile, which gave the poor old woman such cruel pain. PHANTOMS ‘_One instant ... and the fairy tale is over, And once again the actual fills the soul_ ...’--A. FET. I For a long time I could not get to sleep, and kept turning from side to side. ‘Confound this foolishness about table-turning!’ I thought. ‘It simply upsets one’s nerves.’... Drowsiness began to overtake me at last.... Suddenly it seemed to me as though there were the faint and plaintive sound of a harp-string in the room. I raised my head. The moon was low in the sky, and looked me straight in the face. White as chalk lay its light upon the floor.... The strange sound was distinctly repeated. I leaned on my elbow. A faint feeling of awe plucked at my heart. A minute passed, another.... Somewhere, far away, a cock crowed; another answered still more remote. I let my head sink back on the pillow. ‘See what one can work oneself up to,’ I thought again,... ‘there’s a singing in my ears.’ After a little while I fell asleep--or I thought I fell asleep. I had an extraordinary dream. I fancied I was lying in my room, in my bed--and was not asleep, could not even close my eyes. And again I heard the sound.... I turned over.... The moonlight on the floor began softly to lift, to rise up, to round off slightly above.... Before me; impalpable as mist, a white woman was standing motionless. ‘Who are you?’ I asked with an effort. A voice made answer, like the rustle of leaves: ‘It is I ... I ... I ... I have come for you.’ ‘For me? But who are you?’ ‘Come by night to the edge of the wood where there stands an old oak-tree. I will be there.’