“It was all your imagination,” said the brother, positively. “No, I believe not. I don’t think it was possible for both of our eyes to be deceived.” “Then your cousin saw it too?” “So she would have averred, had you asked her the day before her death.” Mr. Wilmot shook his head; while the girls looked credulous. I noticed that Kate glanced slightly around, every now and then, half fearfully. “One day,” resumed Aunt Edith, “about two years after our marriage, something favoring an allusion to the subject, I said to my husband—‘There is one thing that I never could bring myself to mention, and I hardly like to do it now.’ ‘What is that?’ he asked. I then related to him, minutely, all that I have told you this evening. He looked grave, and was thoughtful for some time. Then he said—‘And there is also one thing about which I have never felt free to speak to you. I remember that night well, and shall have cause to remember it as long as I live.’ ‘Were you conscious of any thing?’ I asked eagerly. ‘Yes, of a great deal,’ he replied. ‘I saw, in fact, all that passed.’ ‘In a dream?’ said I. ‘No, while awake—as fully awake as at this time. To throw off all disguise, and speak without mystery, I happened on that night to be going home at a late hour, and in passing your house saw a light streaming through a small opening in the shutter. It instantly occurred to me that you might be up and engaged in some love experiments, as it was Hallow-Eve; so, stealing up softly, and peeping in, I saw that I was not in error. No very long time was spent in determining what to do. My decision I marked by suddenly jerking the shutter back, and slamming it loudly against the house. Concealed by the darkness, I perceived the effect of this. It was what I had anticipated. You did not in the least suspect the truth. As plainly as if I had been in the room, I could now see all that was passing; and, as I understood the particular charm you were trying, knew precisely what part I was to act in the ceremony. So, as I had all along believed myself to be the favored one, although you somehow or other appeared to think differently, I took the liberty of walking in, just as the clock struck twelve.” At this part of Aunt Edith’s story she was interrupted by a burst of laughter from all in the room. “And so that was the explanation of the great mystery?” said Mr. Wilmot. “The troubled spirit was a real flesh and blood visiter after all.” “Yes. And in my heart I forgave him for the trick he played off upon me so adroitly.” “Why, Aunt Edith!” exclaimed Maggy, taking a long breath. “How you frightened me! I really thought it was a spirit that had entered!” “No, child. Spirits, I believe, are not apt to walk about and visit love-sick maidens, even on Halloween, for all that may be paid to the contrary. The instance given you is the best authenticated I have ever known.”