"Could you not lead me to him?" "Assuredly," he answered. He showed her the way, calling from the door to his masters; but when Erh-lang, in the pale light of the paper lanterns, recognized the white face of his betrothed, he cried out in dismay: "Ghost! Ghost!" Confident in her love, she advanced toward him piteously repeating: "Elder brother! Elder brother! I am alive!" But he kept recoiling in terror, and crying: "Help! Help!" How could he fail to believe himself in the presence of a ghost, when he had witnessed the funeral, and had, that very evening, encountered the wife of Chou in mourning garments? As she was about to touch him and, cringing against the wall, he could retreat no further, his terror redoubled. Not knowing what he did, he picked up a heavy stool and struck his dear visitor on the head with it. She fell back, and her head sounded dully on the stone flags. Fan ran up at the noise of this. He saw the woman on the ground, and his brother holding the stool. "What have you done?" he cried. "What is the matter? Was it you who killed her?" "She is a ghost," the other said. "If she were a ghost, she would not bleed. What have you done?" Already some ten persons had come up to see what was the matter. The street guard came in to them and seized Erh-lang, who kept on saying: "She is the ghost of Chou's daughter. I have killed her." Hearing this name, a neighbor ran to inform Chou, who would not at first believe him. At length he decided to go to the wine pavilion, where he was compelled to recognize her, though he kept on saying: "I buried her long since!" Nevertheless, the guard insisted upon leading Erh-lang to prison. Fan had the doors shut then, and stayed with Chou by the corpse till morning. Early next day the Governor inquired into the matter. The coffin was opened. It was found empty, and the keepers told how their dog had been found dead in the snow on the day after the funeral. In the absence of any completer explanation, they proceeded with their inquiry. Erh-lang, in his prison, was overcome with sorrowful remorse. Sometimes he said that she could not have survived her burial; sometimes he was rent with horror at the thought that she had been alive when he struck her. He recalled her beauty and grace in Spring by the lake side, and bitter tears rolled from him. While he was musing in this way, he saw his cell door open, and the girl appeared. In his emotion and fear, he cried: "Are you not dead, my darling?" "Your blow caused me more grief than harm. Now I have wakened, and have come to see you." She approached the bench where he sat, and he took her hand: "How can I have been so foolish as to fear you?" They were talking thus, and already, in their deep love, they were in each other's arms. His joy was so keen that suddenly he woke. It was a dream. On the second night the same thing happened, and on the third, and his passion grew stronger for her. As she was going away the third time, she said: