And I did not wish to hear that sound, because I knew it meant that I was nervous--miserably nervous--a coward and a brute. It meant that I, having killed my wife as surely as though I had put a knife in her breast, had now sunk so low as to be afraid of her dead body--the dead body that lay in the room next to mine. The heads of the beds were placed against the same wall; and from that wall I had fancied I heard slight, slight, almost inaudible sounds. So when I say that I became aware of them I mean that I at last heard a sound so distinct as to leave no room for doubt or question. It brought me to a sitting position in the bed, and the drops of sweat gathered heavily on my forehead and fell on my cold hands as I held my breath and listened. I don't know how long I sat there--there was no further sound--and at last my tense muscles relaxed, and I fell back on the pillow. "You fool!" I said to myself; "dead or alive, is she not your darling, your heart's heart? Would you not go near to die of joy if she came to you? Pray God to let her spirit come back and tell you she forgives you!" "I wish she would come," myself answered in words, while every fibre of my body and mind shrank and quivered in denial. I struck a match, lighted a candle, and breathed more freely as I looked at the polished furniture--the commonplace details of an ordinary room. Then I thought of her, lying alone, so near me, so quiet under the white sheet. She was dead; she would not wake or move. But suppose she did move? Suppose she turned back the sheet and got up, and walked across the floor and turned the door-handle? As I thought it, I heard--plainly, unmistakably heard--the door of the chamber of death open slowly--I heard slow steps in the passage, slow, heavy steps--I heard the touch of hands on my door outside, uncertain hands, that felt for the latch. Sick with terror, I lay clenching the sheet in my hands. I knew well enough what would come in when that door opened--that door on which my eyes were fixed. I dreaded to look, yet I dared not turn away my eyes. The door opened slowly, slowly, slowly, and the figure of my dead wife came in. It came straight towards the bed, and stood at the bed-foot in its white grave-clothes, with the white bandage under its chin. There was a scent of lavender. Its eyes were wide open and looked at me with love unspeakable. I could have shrieked aloud. My wife spoke. It was the same dear voice that I had loved so to hear, but it was very weak and faint now; and now I trembled as I listened.