And there, one might suppose, the matter of the portraits ended. One might suppose it, that is, if there were not evidently a good deal more written here about it. However, to me, then, the matter seemed ended. I went to see Mildred; I invited her and her mother to come and stay with me. I rather avoided glancing at the picture in the ebony frame. I could not forget, nor remember without singular emotion, the look in the eyes of that woman when mine first met them. I shrank from meeting that look again. I reorganized the house somewhat, preparing for Mildred's visit. I turned the dining-room into a drawing-room. I brought down much of the old-fashioned furniture, and, after a long day of arranging and re-arranging, I sat down before the fire, and, lying back in a pleasant languor, I idly raised my eyes to the picture. I met her dark, deep hazel eyes, and once more my gaze was held fixed as by a strong magic--the kind of fascination that keeps one sometimes staring for whole minutes into one's own eyes in the glass. I gazed into her eyes, and felt my own dilate, pricked with a smart like the smart of tears. "I wish," I said, "oh, how I wish you were a woman, and not a picture! Come down! Ah, come down!" I laughed at myself as I spoke; but even as I laughed I held out my arms. I was not sleepy; I was not drunk. I was as wide awake and as sober as ever was a man in this world. And yet, as I held out my arms, I saw the eyes of the picture dilate, her lips tremble--if I were to be hanged for saying it, it is true. Her hands moved slightly, and a sort of flicker of a smile passed over her face. I sprang to my feet. "This won't do," I said, still aloud. "Firelight does play strange tricks. I'll have the lamp." I pulled myself together and made for the bell. My hand was on it, when I heard a sound behind me, and turned--the bell still unrung. The fire had burned low, and the corners of the room were deeply shadowed; but, surely, there--behind the tall worked chair--was something darker than a shadow. "I must face this out," I said, "or I shall never be able to face myself again." I left the bell, I seized the poker, and battered the dull coals to a blaze. Then I stepped back resolutely, and looked up at the picture. The ebony frame was empty! From the shadow of the worked chair came a silken rustle, and out of the shadow the woman of the picture was coming--coming towards me. I hope I shall never again know a moment of terror so blank and absolute. I could not have moved or spoken to save my life. Either all the known laws of nature were nothing, or I was mad. I stood trembling, but, I am thankful to remember, I stood still, while the black velvet gown swept across the hearthrug towards me. Next moment a hand touched me--a hand soft, warm, and human--and a low voice said, "You called me. I am here."