The tall man pinned the sponge in the handkerchief to her boddice directly under her nose, so that, with her head resting on her breast, she must continue to breathe the fumes. Then he turned and dropped on his knees by the bed so as to bring his dark, agonized brow nearer to the level of the beautiful pale face pillowed there, and he kissed the cold lips passionately and wept. “Oh! my dearest, my dearest, is it even so? I am here at the risk of my life, of my honor, only to look upon your sweet eyes once more before they are hidden forever in the grave, only to hear your gentle voice speak forgiveness before it is hushed forever in death! But your eyes are closed—your lips are mute—and your wings are already spread for Heaven! Oh, Erminie! Erminie! how could I ever have weighed my mad ambition against your holy love! Oh, my darling! my darling! that I could offer up my life in ransom for yours! I would give my life to restore you, my love!—nay, I would give my life merely to hear those sweet silent lips speak one word—forgiveness!” And here the strong man bowed his head upon the sides of the bed and wept convulsively. And now came the strangest part of the strange vision. Elfie, witnessing all that occurred, as in a nightmare dream from which she sought in vain to wake, saw also this strange phenomenon. The white-robed form of Erminie slowly arose to a sitting posture; the golden glory of her auburn hair fell around her like a halo; her face shone “as the face of an angel;” she stretched forth her fair arms and let her fair hands fall softly and slowly as snow-flakes upon the bowed black head beneath them; and she murmured, in a grave, sweet, silvery cadence: “’Tis not for me to say the Heavenly word. But you sought me and I love you. You saved my dear father from a dreadful doom, and I bless you. May the Lord speak forgiveness to your soul, my love.” Yes, to Elfie’s incredulous amazement, she who, for twenty-four hours, had lain on her bed “like a marble girl on a marble slab,” incapable of being moved to consciousness by the gentle words and caresses of her only brother, or by the tender tears and kisses of her bosom friend, had been stirred to life and roused to response by the passionate appeal of her ghostly lover! Simultaneously with this strange, discovery, there was a ringing as of many bells in Elfie’s ears, a dancing as of many lights in Elfie’s eyes, and the whole vision was whirled away from her in a delirious carnival of glory. CHAPTER XXXVIII. ELFIE’S VISION. Say from whence You owe this strange intelligence Speak, I charge ye!—SHAKSPEARE. “Elfie! why, Elfie, wake up.” It was the voice of Britomarte, speaking in a low but eager tone as she gently shook the girl to rouse her. Elfie yawned, stretched her arms, and gazed around in perplexity.