Was I dreaming? Could it be, after all, only a mere chimera of an excited imagination? No; I knew myself to be in full possession of all my faculties. The mystery was inscrutable. There before me, somewhat abashed by her own unceremonious intrusion, her soft cheeks slightly flushed, radiant and in perfect health, stood my dead wife in the flesh! CHAPTER NINE. A MAZE OF MYSTERY. I sat erect in my chair, open-mouthed, unable to move. My eyes were riveted upon the slim graceful form before me. I held my breath in wonder. She wore a smart tailor-made gown of pale fawn, with a large black hat which suited her admirably, while across the face--every feature of which had been so indelibly photographed upon my memory--was a thin gauzy veil which only served to heighten, rather than to conceal, her striking beauty. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you," she exclaimed, turning to her ladyship. "But I hadn't any idea that you had a visitor." "Oh," laughed the other, "our conversation is not at all of a private character. Let me introduce you." Then, turning to me, she said-- "This is my cousin, Feo Ashwicke--Doctor Colkirk." My wife turned to me and bowed, a sweet smile upon her lips. "I hope, Doctor, you will forgive me for bounding into the room like this," she said. "Certainly," I answered, still gazing at her like a man in a dream. She had been introduced to me as Feo Ashwicke, the cousin of this rather curious woman, Lady Pierrepoint-Lane. Yet there could be no doubt that she was actually Beryl Wynd, the sweet-faced girl whom I had seen lying dead in that house of mystery eight days before. Neither our introduction nor the mention of my name had in the least disconcerted her. She remained perfectly frank and natural, betraying not the slightest surprise. Could it be possible that she was not aware of her marriage with me? I looked straight into her clear blue eyes. Neither appeared affected. Nevertheless, had I not, on that fatal night, seen the strange contraction of the pupil, which had rendered one--the left eye-- sightless and so strange-looking? She was talking to her cousin, and thus I had opportunity of regarding her critically. Her hands were gloved, therefore I could not see whether she still wore the ring I had placed upon her finger. Still, if she were really Feo Ashwicke, what motive had she in masquerading as the daughter of that crafty scoundrel Wyndham Wynd? I longed to speak plainly to her and seek some explanation, yet at that moment it was impossible. Her frank and open manner rendered it quite evident that to her I was an utter stranger. It was this failure on her part to recognise my name that aroused within my mind a doubt whether, after all, her personal appearance only bore a very striking resemblance to that of my mysterious wife.