Yet even these facts did not sufficiently account for the extremely depressing effect of that room upon me. "Has anyone died here lately?" was my first and natural query in a house of this kind. I had heard the girls casually mention two gentlemen patients who had been in the house the previous year--one of these had gone into rooms in a neighbouring town with his nurse. I did not hear what had become of the other one, and had not sufficient curiosity to ask the question. My friend reassured me by saying she was sure no one had died recently in _my_ room. She had only lately come to the house herself, as I knew; having been matron for some years of a small hospital in the country. "The second poor gentleman, who was a patient here, did die in the house, I believe, but that was months ago," she said, "and I understand that he had Laura Pearce's room," mentioning one of the girls, who had a specially cheerful apartment. It seemed quite natural that a sick man, confined to his bed, should occupy a large and sunny room, so I thought no more of the matter. Still, I was always conscious of an unpleasant and sad atmosphere in my own room, and took occasion one day to ask the lady at the head of the establishment whether she knew anything of the predecessors in the house. It struck me that the psychic atmosphere in my room might be connected with some of _them_. Miss Hunter replied laughingly: "I can't tell you anything about them, for the very good reason that they don't exist. _I_ am the first tenant of this house. It was only built two years ago, and remained vacant for the first twelve months." Then I told her very cautiously of my feeling about my room, and that I had supposed it might have to do with someone who had slept there before she took the house. Two or three of the young girls were in the room at the time, and it struck me that one of them--the one who was there for her second winter--looked a little surprised and interested; but the matron passed off the subject with a few bantering words, and again I had no suspicion of the truth. Six weeks passed, and my last night in the house had arrived. My nurse friend was in the habit of giving me massage twice a day, before getting up in the morning and the last thing at night. She left me on this occasion about ten-thirty P.M., expressing a hope that I should soon sleep, and have a good night before my long journey next day. "Not much doubt of that," I murmured. "Why, I'm half asleep already!" And I turned round, tired and yet soothed by the massage, and soon fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. Several hours must have passed, when I woke up, trembling and terror-struck, after passing through an experience which seems as vivid to me to-day as on that February night or early morning. My heart was beating, my limbs trembling, beads of perspiration covered my face, as I discovered later.