My night's experience convinced me so absolutely that, in spite of all that had been said, the gentleman patient _had_ died in this room, and that I had just gone through his death agonies, that instead of asking any question about it, I said very quietly to Minnie, as she was on her knees lighting my fire: "The poor gentleman who died here last summer _died in this room, I find_." "Yes, ma'am," she said quietly, not knowing, as it turned out, that any mystery had been made about the fact. My personal friend was guiltless of any deceit, for she had been told the story about Laura Pearce's room, but the young girls confessed when I went down to breakfast that they had been specially warned not to let me know the true facts. Miss Hunter did not appear at breakfast, as she was suffering from a chill, so I went to her bedroom to say good-bye before going up to London. Feeling naturally annoyed and rather shaken by my night's experience, I said to her rather drily: "You need not have taken the trouble to deceive me about my room, Miss Hunter, nor to warn the girls to do the same. I know that gentleman died there, for I have just gone through his experiences." And then I told her about my terrible night. Although forced to admit the facts, Miss Hunter fought every inch of the ground, so far as the _painful_ experiences were concerned. "Such an excellent man! so interested in everything--a _clergyman_, my dear Miss Bates, and so _good!_ How could there be anything painful connected with his death?" etc. etc. I suggested that, as Christians, we had the most overwhelming proof that holiness of life does not always preclude even mental suffering at death; but she would not hear of this argument, and doubtless considered it blasphemous. By dint of questioning, however, I made two discoveries--first, that the death was quite unexpected. The man had only been a fortnight in the house, and when I expressed surprise that he should have been moved there so late in a fatal illness, she said unguardedly: "_Oh, but he was very slightly ill when he came--it was more a preventive measure. None of us had any idea that he was a dying man, the symptoms developed so suddenly._" I also elicited another fact--_i.e._ that this delightfully interesting personality "so intellectual--so full of interest in everything" (to quote Miss Hunter's words), had died at the age of forty, in the very prime of life. No wonder, under the circumstances of so short an illness, in the very zenith of life and enjoyment, that body and soul should have been loath to separate, and thus free the imprisoned spirit! But Miss Hunter was adamant, and would admit nothing.